⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ is it just me and you in the wreckage of the world? follow my ao3 (@nanahidesingroves) and my substack (@nanananabooboo)!! (19) ♔♕♖♗♘♙
conversely, it was a shame that nothing on earth could take his breath away. nothing but you…and perhaps the mantaray leisurely gliding by above your heads, separated by inches of thick, indestructuble glass that withstood overwhelming volumes of water with ease.
your awe at the infrastructure is interrupted by the idiot beside you.
"satoru-!" you hiss, gripping a thick bicep and tugging his arm back with an incredulous, soft laugh, "stop pressing your forehead against the glass! what are you, five?"
the minute he turns his head, your eyes soften.
satoru has always been gorgeous, you're well aware of that, and you know he always will be. but it doesn't shock you any less when he turns, and you're met with those pale blue eyes, that strong jaw, that delicate, rounded point of his nose that has so often nuzzled deep into the crook of your neck, for no other reason than to breathe you in.
his blindfold is off - a rare occurence considering how sensitive those eyes of his are. always looking, searching for something most people couldn't put a name to.
snow-white lashes flutter at the sight of you, soaking your visage in with a tender smile.
and then, it's gone - replaced with a mischievous pout and a huff, "you're acting like you work here."
"and you're acting like a child." you retort, folding your arms over your chest, giving him that unimpressed expression he so deeply adores - satoru straightens to his full height, towering over you with an ego big enough to drown several of the fish swimming just a few feet away.
he leans his face down to make it level with yours, features resting into something so dangerously loving that for a moment you swear he's about to kiss you senseless - right in front of a crowd of gawking tourists.
instead, his upper lip curls into a smug grin, and you're reminded of exactly why utahime constantly wants to wring his neck.
"no need to be jealous of the fish, angel." he purrs, and you scoff, unable to prevent the reckless chuckle that bubbles out from your mouth.
"you were pressing your face against the glass, satoru." his grin widens further as your pointer finger presses into his pinkish forehead to emphasis your point, "you literally have a red patch from the pressure."
satoru shrugs, tilting his head vaguely, like a cat listening to someone talk, "what? i can't be curious?"
you scoff, and he laughs as he wraps an arm around your shoulders- a loud, deep, chirpy laugh that has you melting into him, your own arm slipping around his waist, hand burrowing into his nearest jacket pocket to keep him tight by your side.
"within reason." you continue, though now you're both entranced by the rich blue of the water, too hypnotised by the warmth of your bodies pressing side by side to bother with pursuing your teasing.
"within reason." he echoes, thumb brushing over your shoulder. "nothing i do, nothing i'm capable of, is within reason."
his eyes track a school of fish, expression faintly morose, admiring the silver of their scales, glittering like tiny, flexible daggers as they shoot across the water, movements too quick for the eye to follow. the aquarium had been his idea, a place of peace, where normal people without the crippling weight of the world went for fun.
and, more importantly, a place he knew you'd enjoy.
his eyes are no longer on the fish.
satoru barely has to turn his head to look at you, and he doesn't have to be subtle, but he tries to be. you look stunning, here, stood beside him, the lighting an ocean blue. satoru thinks you wear the colour well, which means you wear him well - every shade of blue is his colour, after all.
"stop staring." you mutter without glancing his way, and it's as though the movement of your lips as you speak is a direct tug at his soul, pulling him closer to you.
he's sure you can feel it, too. that little tug that has his lips just aching to connect with your mouth. oh, but you're a stubborn, pretty, little thing, too intent to watch the whale shark float by. why does the shark get all the attention? he's more attractive.
"'m not staring." satoru leans closer, and he uses a hand to turn your head, coaxing your gaze from the fish to him. your eyes are so gentle it leaves him breathless. you raise an eyebrow, and there's that look again: eyes narrowed, more or less amused, lips curved so minutely it would barely have counted as a whisper of a smirk.
you tilt your head, and it's like you've spontaneously grown a spiritual hand and reached deep inside of his chest, wrapping those phantom fingers around his heart and making it flutter, gently squeezing some words out of him.
"i'm…jealous of the fish." he confesses, and you laugh - god, he'd admit to every embarrassing thing he'd done since birth if you'd grant him a chance to hear that sound again.
"well," you hum, "there's no need to be. none are as handsome as you, anyway."
and those are the words he wants to hear, because suddenly satoru's sweet tooth is irritating him to the point of pain, and he's smothering his mouth over yours to satiate it - there's nothing sweeter than your lips, after all.
the world melts away, until it's just him and you, the buzz of his six-eyes, a constant, droning, exhausting power, dulls into the background. when you cheekily nibble on his lower lip, it's like his soul's redeemed, fresh and reborn.
as always, you're the first to pull away for air.
satoru licks his lips, chasing after your sugary taste, pupils blown open so wide that black swallows virtually all the pale-blue of his irises.
you giggle as you wipe your thumb over his bottom lip, wiping it free of residual saliva. "that'll give the workers something to talk about." you murmur.
he catches your wrist with his free hand, leaning forward and bumping his nose against yours, barely. "i love you." he whispers, soft, terribly quiet, just a secret meant for the both of you.
"i love you, too." you whisper back, equally as secretive, "more than any sea creature, that's for sure."
satoru snorts, and the mood shifts - less of the heavy emotion, and more of the lighter stuff, the type that makes the both of you feel like you're floating on air. he steps in front of you, hand still wrapped around your wrist, and starts walking, tugging you to his side with gentle encouragement.
"come on, angel." he grins, "to the beta fish tank."
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ (a/n): hey my loves!! enjoy this little bite-sized fic at your leisure!! as always, don't forget to follow my ao3 (@nanahidesingroves) and my asks are open! love you all <3
(p.s - do you guys think i should make a masterlist? pleaseee lmk)
lounging in the royal gardens with heianera!sukuna
(pairings: trueform!sukuna x wife!reader - 1.2k words)
"up."
sukuna's nose wrinkles, one of his many eyes opening to stare up at you from under thick, pink lashes, annoyed at your audacity. "no."
"ryomen."
"wife."
you glare down at him.
to any onlookers nearby (if they survived being within a couple miles of your husband, that is), the sight would have been somewhat peaceful - beautiful sunlight shining through rich, green leaves, dappling across the soft grass, the slightest breeze causing branches to sway, and you and sukuna, with his head on your lap, both pairs of his arms folded neatly over his toned stomach, long, thick legs hidden by the airy fabric of his gi.
even his second mouth was smiling, donning the smallest curve, relaxed for the first time in a long while.
he ignores your glowering, stubbornly keeping all four of his eyes shut, basking in the direct warmth of the sunlight - topless as always, black tattoos rippling over his tan skin, the occasional muscle twitching to ensure he doesn't fall asleep.
your noiselssness makes him uncomfortable, though - you are his wife, after all, and regardless of the fact that he shows spades of his love through silence, you weren't necessarily the same way.
one eye opens again - the singular, vermillion iris peering up at you, curious, cautious.
"speak." he huffs (more whine than grumble).
"you dare to command me?" you murmur.
"you dare to ask me to remove myself from you?" he snaps back, pouting now, and you're pleased to find that you'd annoyed him enough for both pairs of his eyes to be fixated on you, irritated (yet filled with adoration nonetheless).
he watches as your shoulders rise and fall in a dismissive shrug, unsure whether that twinkle in your eye was from the upcoming mischief you had planned or the sun (but, oh, you were so beautiful, glancing down at him like he was something worth looking at, worth putting up with - his chest bloomed with warmth that the sun itself couldn't make him feel, fingers twitching to reach up and trace the line of your jaw).
"your head is a heavy burden to bear," you explain, twirling a lock of his salmon-pink tresses around your delicate finger, tugging just enough to make him exhale quickly through his nose in amusement, "and my legs are tired."
"i am comfortable."
"you are selfish for not letting me move."
"selfish, you say." he raises an eyebrow (you see the slight tremble at the corner of his mouth - a subtle tell of his struggle not to erupt in that hearty laughter reserved only for you).
"incredibly. in fact," you tap the bridge of his nose, "i could even go as far as calling you lazy."
"lazy." he repeats, voice monotone, fighting to stay unamused. "i should have you punished for your insolence."
you snort, smirking, "being married to you is punishment enough. what sort of husband doesn't move for his wife? you do not love me."
"now, there's no use in false accusations, woman." sukuna hisses, propping himself up on one of his many elbows, nose crinkling at the sound of your relieved sigh when you're freed from the weight of his head on your lap, frowning further when the distance between you lengthens by a couple more inches as you shift to sit beside him. "what sort of wife doesn't watch her tongue?"
the sound of your quiet laughter has his gaze warming, regardless of his irritation, and sukuna absorbs the contentment emanating from you as though it's his just as much as it is yours.
"if my tongue wasn't as sharp, nor as…talented as it is, well," you catch the faint colour rising to the tips of his ears and smile wider, "you wouldn't have married me."
"you are horrendously mistaken." he grouches, his lower arms folding petulantly, all four eyes narrowing as you laugh and snuggle into his side, nuzzling your nose into his cheek, "i would have married you even if you were meek - you are mine."
"then, truly, i am fortunate" you pinch his cheek, your other hand running up his chest, tracing the black lines running over his shoulders, soothing him despite your teasing. "i am lucky to be loved so deeply."
"hmph."
"come now," you chuckle, "do not be so childish. look at me."
he lifts his chin up higher, determined in his plight to refuse your attempts at gaining his forgiveness. instead, he finds himself glaring at the rest of the temple gardens - cared for at your request. sukuna's glowering deepens further - could he not look anywhere and not be reminded of his beautiful wife? even the cherry blossoms paled in your comparison.
"oh?" you make a big show of trying to catch his eye (a considerably difficult task, even despite of the fact that he had twice as many pairs as the average man), weaving your head around his, all to no avail.
he was as stubborn as you were.
"i see." you huff, brows furrowing delicately. "how cruel of you."
that seems to finally get him.
with a low snarl, he tackles you to the floor, until your back is flat against the lush grass, and your chest is pressed flush against his. "cruel?" he spits. "you think me cruel for avoiding your gaze?"
you reply with a shrug, internally smug at how easily it is to rile him up. "you'd dispute me on the matter?"
"thousands have died at my hands," he growls, "i have massacred whole armies with a flick of my wrist, have had hundreds of kings kneel before my feet and you-" sukuna catches your smile, so pretty, the sunlight following the outline of your lips like a lover's caress, your hair splayed out around your head like a halo.
he was a strong man - but even the strongest would falter at the sight of you.
"and i….?" you urge, completely unbothered by his ranting.
he sighs and leans down, capturing your soft lips with his, humming with pleasure at your heady taste before pulling back, expression free from any faux agitation he'd felt prior.
"you stay by my side anyway." he murmurs. "what a fool you are."
"ah, but you married me." you push at his shoulder gently, playful, chuckling against his mouth as he steals another kiss, "that makes you the bigger idiot."
"it makes me weak," he scoffs, and completely melts into you as your fingers slide into his hair, burying his face deep into the crook of your neck, "but i could never be named a fool for loving you."
his words are spoken soft - a quiet whisper of a man who'd only known blood and grotesque violence, but feared the forgiving retribution of your hands, of the grief you might cause should he ever lose you.
you press your mouth to his temple - a promise. there would be nothing to fear from you.
nothing, save sunny days and your lighthearted teasing.
sukuna kisses your neck in response, pink lashes fluttering against your skin as he breathes in deeply, glad to soak in a silence that cleanses him.
he knows you'll give him nothing to hurt about.
sukuna knows, because he'd rather fall than let anything happen to you. and nothing will.
he is the strongest, after all.
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ (a/n): hi everyone! i'm back again from my silly little hiatus - exam season was balls but i got through it lol - anyway, now that it's summer hopefully i can get back to doing some much needed writing - weekly posts here i come!
hope everyone enjoyed this little oneshot! my asks and taglists are open, so feel free to send me any inquiries or ideas! love you bai!
i didnt want to make a post but some of you guys are fucking insane
trying to leak my address and sending my full name into my inbox like that’s normal behavior? do you actually hear yourselves? because from where i’m standing, this is beyond obsessive, it’s invasive and it’s genuinely disturbing
and then on top of that, the messages about my body, the edited pictures of me, the "advice" being sent to me… picking me apart like i’m something to be dissected, labelling parts of me, telling me what to change, what to "focus on" , how to "starve myself", it’s sick. not just cruel, but completely disconnected from reality. none of it is true. not a single thing
you’ve created this version of me that doesn’t exist and you’re treating it like fact, like it justifies the way you speak to me and about me. it doesn’t. it never will. this isn’t "criticism" or "concern," it’s harassment and im wondering where you get the fucking audacity
and what’s even crazier is how baseless all of it is. the things being said about me, about my body, about my life? it’s all made up. you’re projecting, reaching, twisting anything you can just to have something to tear apart. and for what?
i’m not going to shrink myself for you. i’m not going to let this push me into silence or make me hate myself the way you clearly want me to. i know who i am, and i know what’s real, and it’s not any of this
please leave me alone if you dont like me or my fics, it never needed to get this far and im honestly just tired of it all
OMG NANANANANANA I JUST SPARKED THE BEST IDEA OFF THAT LAST ASKKKK!!!!!!
So..... a spin off for the sukuna series! The main focus goes from sukuna villain to nanami hero, where readers childhood best friend nanami comes back and just jdksks a lot of reflection and growth, maybe the same way sukuna didnt rlly "see" reader for who she was, nanami does see her and compares it to her younger self/how she came to be avoidant. Maybe she felt she was too damaged for love so she looked for pain which is what trauma bonded her with kuna, but now SHE is the one who wants to change,, like u said, learning how to accept affection. And mmmmmmaybe there is somewhere nearby who has always loved her and been waiting to move back and silently watching and waiting and willing to help her along reassure her and ummmm do u get where im going 🙈 SELF LOVE ARC!!!!! (ft pining bff nanami) maybe for one part kuna comes back, as a test from the universe, and whether he changes or not its used to highlight HOW reader has grown and hsjsjjsjs stop im gonna geek out abt this idek if ur gonna wanna write this hehe
it had to be you.
(childhoodbestfriend!nanami x reader)
synopsis: ༄ you've been friends with nanami for as long as you can possibly remember, and he's always known one thing: it had to be you. how long will it take for you to conclude the same?
〃✦ ┆word count: 7k
warnings: MDNI!!! oral sex (fem! receiving), mating press, nanami has a big dick, reader is avoidant asf
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ (a/n): hello everyone! specifically to this gorgeous anon above who inspired this fic - everyone say thank you anon!!! i'm so sorry that it took so long for me to write this lol but i'm glad i'm up to date now heheheheheh!! the ask was just tooooo good i couldn't ignore it and decided to write based off of it as a standalone instead!
"you look tired."
he's waiting in your room, sat in your childhood bed like he owns it. truthfully, it's as much his as it is yours - you can't count how many times you'd both cuddled under the sheets for warmth, childish giggles slipping out of you when neither of you could fall asleep.
that was years ago now. you'd gone to college. so had he. studying different courses in different places - aiming for different things.
the pastel pinks of your blankets don't suit nanami. the delicate white trim of your princess bed doesn't suit him either - the softness of your room decor can't equal every sharp line he'd grown into, clashing with the angular cut of his cheekbones and jaw, the narrow slits of his eyes watching from behind rectangular, thin-rimmed, black glasses.
you know he's watching you absorb the way he looks - down to how his feet dangle comically off of the edge of your bed, too tall to cram himself into a space so tiny, too buff to fully get comfortable on the thin mattress - bulging muscles lining his arms and legs, cutting his chest into sculpted perfection - visible even through the fabric of his white tee. especially through his white tee.
since when did he get the time to become so muscular?
he's up against the wall, propped up by the large pile of pillows and various stuffed animals you'd collected over the years, accumulated from ex-boyfriends and gifts from family and friends.
you take one glance at his lap before smiling - there it is - a little, stuffed panda bear, with it's big, black eyes staring patiently where you stood, as if it had joined nanami in his wait for you. a shared toy, worn and well-loved, down to the missing arm.
"i'm surprised you can look at all, four-eyes."
he scoffs.
the bag slips off of your shoulder before you can really pay any mind to where you're putting it, throwing it into a chair. nanami is already shifting, moving forward and up onto his feet before your arms can spread wide enough to take him.
the moment where your arms are empty is brief - as always, nanami is three steps ahead of you - he's pulling you in just as yours wrap around his waist, and each point of tension, each unforgiving thought about yourself, dulls into an incoherent buzz.
something hot spikes in nanami's chest as he hears you chuckle in relief. for so long, he'd gone without you.
sure, being your best friend had it's perks - you were funny, and had a good head about you, something nanami appreciated more than he let on, and he missed it relentlessly back at college, where he was surrounded by reckless idiots who didn't know what to do with themselves (idiots often going by the name of satoru gojo).
but you were pretty, too. unbelievably pretty. he'd always thought so. his opinion hadn't changed just because you talked to him a little less and tensed around him a little more.
burying his nose into your hair, he takes a long, deep breath, pressing his mouth to the crown of your head. he feels you shift, and the intimacy makes you clench your jaw and swallow the bitterness down, steeling yourself just enough to close your eyes and sink deeper into his arms.
this was only nanami, after all - the same boy who'd run to you when he'd scuffed his knee against hard gravel, who'd stood between you and the girl who'd pull your hair, threatening bloodshed with a pudgy fist and a glare despite his own shyness. he deserved all the love you could garner.
"missed you, ken." you breathed.
"missed you, too." he rumbles back, and you pull away, grinning. it's an unusual feeling - to have your emotions acting so simply without the help of alcohol or weed buzzing under your skin. you wonder if he's ever smoked, or had ever tasted the bitter tang of blunt-smoke on his tongue - judging from the way he held himself (tall, proud, like a mountain), he'd been able to stand by his morals and ideals.
you couldn't say much of the same for yourself.
electricity crackles between you both, stood so close, his large hands still cupping your arms at the elbow. a muscle twitches in his arm when he feels you lean back further, like the proximity of it all makes you uncomfortable. regardless, nanami can't bring himself to let go.
and he's glad he doesn't, because soon your hand is reaching up, gently brushing back his fringe, observant eyes running over his loving expression. "you've cut your hair."
"it was getting in the way." he murmurs, and you snort, thinking back to his old…look. nanami watches carefully as your nose crinkles, humming as he recognises your silent lament - he missed the old days as much as you did. he'd had all of you back then, unabashed and unashamed.
you'd been less aware of yourself, too ignorant to acknowledge that that sadness inside of you would have solidified into something real later on.
your fingers brush through the hair at the side of his head, softer and less calloused than his own. he wonders if you like how the short, cropped hair at the sides scratch the pads of those slender digits when you run them over, or if you preferred longer strands to card your fingers through. he's unsure whether this change would drive you further away from him.
sometimes, nanami thinks he'd lost you from the minute he watched your retreating silhouette in the back of your parents car, getting smaller and smaller, going to stay where he couldn't follow. sometimes he blames himself for the distance when the silence stretches too long for it to be casual.
you'd only been back for half an hour - barely - and already he feels so overwhelmed. your bags aren't even unpacked, and he's panicking because he just has so much to say to you, but his tongue feels like lead in his mouth.
for a split second, nanami hesitates, breath catching. he leans forward by a fraction, lips parted to allow a small, incoherent noise made at the back of his throat, to escape him - a lapse in judgement, a mistake. you don't notice. if you do, you ignore it.
he takes that as a sign.
focus lines your features - so much concentration hides behind your eyes that nanami is partially convinced you're counting each, individual hair follicle your fingers seem to graze over. even you don't know why you're so intent to just touch him. nanami shifts closer, silent, but far more obvious in his movements.
and now you're aware - you can feel his hands tighten at your elbows, gently bundling you into his chest, sliding down your arms and around your waist. you can feel his forehead press against your temple, nose lightly brushing the soft fat of your cheek. nanami hears you swallow, his hot breath hitting the skin of your jaw, careful and heated, like he's willing you not to back away from all of this.
for a moment, your eyes shut. blood rushes beneath your skin, so loud that you can hear it thrumming in your ears. nanami is so close. so real. bent over your form with his face pressed into the side of your own like he'd willingly sink lower to pray at your feet.
and for a moment - one fat, glorious moment - you think that you'll get away with feeling his warmth. you start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, you won't feel it.
but then the dread comes crashing over you anyway.
"sorry, ken-" you cough awkwardly, fingers lifting from his scalp, and nanami stiffens, grip around your waist tightening once, twice, three times, before he can muster up the strength to lift his head and look down at you.
his glasses are slightly off-centre, lower lip jutting out delicately like a dog that had just been kicked and shoved to the side, forcing more disgust to bubble up your throat. the disgust isn't for him - this feeling that chases after you, urges you to drive a stake through the heart of each relationship in your life, is a constant, aching thing - but it's never for him.
you've yet to find somebody who understands it fully, and you'd given up looking for someone to care a long, long time ago.
what surprises you, though, is how you grit your teeth through the first wave of it. the hairs on the back of your neck feel as though they're standing on end, but you stay, stilling just long enough to adjust his glasses back properly, offering a strained smile in apology, before slipping out of his grasp.
nanami feels his arms fall limply at his sides, longing to take you in his hold again. for him, this itch to keep you forever has been a lifelong persistence.
he'd felt it ten years ago when your little hands cupped his chubby face and clumsily kissed the tears away - innocent like how children only can be.
and he feels it now, with how the ghost of your fingers still run through his fringe - not nearly as innocent, too disciplined to make the first move.
instead, he returns your smile, equally as strained, but tone gentle enough to lull you into faux relaxation for the time being, "don't worry about it. 'm just happy that you're home."
you tilt your head, lips curving upward, and he can't seem to draw his eyes away from watching them part, readying himself to hear your voice again, when your mother calls from downstairs.
neither of you say a word, the atmosphere broken.
all you can offer is one lazy wink before hurrying out of the door.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
as days pass, nanami tries his best to understand what makes you tick.
he shows up outside of your door constantly, half-obsessive in a way that would have been worrying to anyone else, but for you it was just regular, old ken:
ken who used to tie your shoelaces on the playground when they'd come undone. ken who'd cried when you finally learned how to do them for yourself.
ken, who'd grown into his teens too tall and gangly to know what to do with himself, who'd burn you cd's and give you mix-tapes with a furious pink dusting his cheeks, half of it hidden by that curtain of blonde hair.
at first, you take this sudden warmth with a pinch of salt. it's not like nanami had never not been this way with you, it was more a question of whether you allowed yourself to soak in it - at the risk of feeling guilty for granting someone the mistake of loving you so deeply.
you should have known that to deny him you would result in failure from the very start.
it had started off as a simple ask, something to do with hanging out with him longer. nanami had always been a 'simpering little twerp' when it came to you, anyway (satoru's words, not his, or yours - for a guy that had never even seen nanami around you, he was certainly quick to pick up on nanami's weak spots, the biggest one being you, obviously), whatever you asked for, he'd give it to you. down to the shirt on his back - especially the shirt on his back.
you hadn't been feeling well over the past few days. moping around your house and the town like some sort of lamenting ghost, going out of your mind trying to find something to do, limbs too jittery to keep still, mind too busy to soothe.
the only remedy seemed to be him.
you weren't surprised. all roads led back to nanami. your nanami. darling ken.
so, naturally, you showed up to his house - wandering in at his choked invitation and listening as he suggests one thing after the other: maybe watching a film together, or doing a puzzle.
you let him ramble, fussing over his notes strewn across his dining table, evidently messy because his parents weren't home and he could use the space as his own for a couple of days. still, he liked to look neat in front of you, even despite not having the natural organisation that came with being grown and responsible - it'll come to him in time, you know it will.
the thought makes your stomach drop a little - everything appeared to work out in the end for everyone else, could the same be said for you? cold, inaccessible you, who was afraid to let intimacy surpass matters of the skin? you didn't want to think about it. the pit in your stomach grows heavier.
"-or i could probably order something to eat if you want me to" he finishes by turning off his laptop, head lifting to finally meet your gaze.
there's no sunlight to illuminate you with the windows closed (and nanami swears it was cloudy outside, anyway), but you seem to bring a light of your own - maybe it's the delicate rosiness to your cheeks, fresh from escaping the nipping cold outside, or maybe it's how you look at him, thoughtful, discerning.
"what?" nanami stiffens, and you observe the comfortably fitted fabric of his shirt smoothen when he straightens fully, the sharp line of his jaw tightening - nervous. you note the dusting of red on the tips of his ears with silent amusement.
"nothing." you shrug, corners of your lips sliding up just faintly, eyes twinkling distantly. "you just look…different."
"different." he glances down at himself, wary, before looking back up at you, "different…how?"
you wave your hand about dismissively, "good different," you respond, turning to face the large bookshelf at your side, stuffed full by old crime-thrillers his father famously loves, and ridiculous romance novels that his mother collected like jewellery. "different - like you're taller, more sure of yourself."
you make no effort to hide the mild envy in your tone, "you know who you are, now."
something painful pierces nanami in the gut as he watches your profile - the irritated dip of your brows, the small crinkle on the bridge of your nose, eyes narrowed and glaring at his parent's bookshelf like the books held all the answers and it was only a matter of time before you'd make them give it to you.
there's no more smile on your lips now, and when he shuffles closer, one foot after the other, you end up folding your arms over your chest - defensive, prickly.
he reaches your side, and you don't have to look at him to know that he's towering over you. "you don't make it sound like a good thing."
"it is."
"then why are you talking to me like that?"
"like what?"
"like you're envious."
"envious of who?" you mutter, "of you? keep dreaming, ken."
you feel him grab your arm, firm (maybe a little too firm, considering how his nails dig into you), and suddenly your back is hitting the pointed edges of the bookshelf, a dramatic hiss leaving your mouth as you stubbornly turn your head to the side.
nanami sighs, exasperated with you already, too used to your deflections to be tricked by your melodrama, free hand shooting up to grip your jaw, unyielding as he turns your head to look at him. his features are crinkled into a calm expression, firm, but not free from worry - you catch the smallest glimmer of concern in his gaze, like even the extent of his strength escapes his knowledge.
you glare, squirming in his hold, but powerless to do anything else except pout and grit your teeth.
he leans forward, no smirk, no leering, no proud gaze that would have had you fighting him further - only an uneasy look, distressed, even.
"what's wrong with you?" he grumbles, eyes narrowing as you snort, "what did i do? did i say something?"
you struggle weakly, yanking your face free from his hold to furrow your brows and glower at him. "no! no! i just- shit, ken, give me some space."
your hands find purchase on his shoulders, shoving at him - or trying to, at least. lord knows that nanami was more akin to a brick wall than a man, and he barely budges when you try to create some space.
but, he relents after a moment - stepping back a couple inches to give you some room to breathe, hand falling from your arm to his side.
the air is cold when you inhale - one long breathe after another. you could handle close proximity just fine - in fact, you'd proven to yourself that you could, replacing one warm body with many more during nights where the loneliness solidified into a lump in your throat.
but this proximity - the gripping, mirror-like kind that forces you to look in rather than reflect outwardly? you stood no chance.
silence reigns where your you fail to conjure up some semblance of an apology, and nanami is still looking at you with that expression - troubled by your sudden change in personality and opinion of him.
"so…you aren't mad at me." he mutters, and you shake your head no, shoulders slumping from a weight that had been bugging you all day.
his confusion makes your heart hurt, makes your mouth dry with guilt.
"sorry, ken." you smile weakly, shrugging your shoulders in defeat. a lump forms in your throat as you try and form the next words, the emotional exposure hard to grasp for someone of your calibre, "i don't know what's wrong with me."
nanami's gaze melts from bemusement to something softer, maybe even understanding. it makes you shrink further into yourself.
"i think you do." he whispers.
he steps closer - you forget you're cornered and back further into the bookshelf behind you, jaw clenched, hands firmly curled into fists at your side. not for fighting - you wouldn't be able to take him on anyway - but the sharp sting of your nails digging into your palm keeps you from disassociating, from making some poorly attempted joke to alleviate the situation.
he deserved the best of you, after all. not to mention the fact that he was right - you did know. you've probably always known.
"am i-" your voice cracks, and there's a sudden rush of self-loathing as your eyes water. you can't cry now, not in front of nanami, not when he deserved to see you strong, happy. you inhale slowly, willing your voice to be dependable, "am i still the same to you?"
you don't look at him when you speak. instead, you focus on the rug beneath your feet, and avoid the way he stares. you don't notice the look of adoration on his features, hurt by your hurt, angered by your self-doubt, his own hands twitching from the restraint it took to not reach out and hold you.
"of course not-" he starts.
you interupt him with a vehement shake of your head. "no, no i meant- i meant…" an frustrated sigh escapes you, followed by the most vulnerable expression nanami's ever seen on your pretty features, your eyes meeting. "do you still like me?"
he freezes. you continue. "even though i've…" your voice trails off, words dying on your tongue, too afraid to live long enough to escape you. nonetheless, the message carries forward - nanami hears it ring in his ears, clear as day:
"even though i've changed."
the quiet that follows is torture for you - for the first time in a really long while, you feel afraid. because nanami was one of the few people who'd survived you.
you'd been definite about him, once - you'd known he was yours and that you were his; you think back to your old, stuffed panda bear with the missing arm - a gift, bought from his own few savings, back when having just a few small coins made you feel like you could buy the world.
a minute ticks by without him saying a word - strangely, you can't decipher the look on his face, eyes blank behind his glasses, no upward or downward curve to his lips, the skin of his face completely smooth and free form any usually wrinkles or dimples.
when you gulp, it feels like drinking sand, and it's unbearable when paired with the noiselessness of it all. your head dips forward slightly, and you stare at your feet, feeling a range of emotions bubble up - tangled together so tightly you can't discern one from the other.
was that shame in your stomach or self-loathing? was that sadness in your chest or the sensation of your heart turning to stone? either way, you know it's going to be a long, long while before you're able to open up to someone again.
but then he shifts. quick. too quick for you to follow.
and suddenly his mouth is on yours.
it's a quick kiss, short enough to barely be considered a peck, but it shocks you so strongly that you freeze - partly amazed at how quickly he'd managed to step forward and put his hands around your waist, partly dumbfounded from the warmth blooming quickly throughout your body.
when nanami pulls back, his cheeks are burning - bright red staining his pale skin, hands trembling where they rest on your body.
his forehead brushes lightly against your own, glasses slipping a few millimetres down his nose, lips parted, breath hot and fanning over your skin like he aims to breathe the love back into you. "of course i do." he murmurs, already leaning in again,
"of course i fucking do."
the second time his mouth meets yours, it's longer, much longer, filled with so much longing that you can do nothing else but melt into him, lips falling open further at the insistent coaxing of his tongue.
he groans when you finally let him in, encouraging little whimpers to erupt from the back of your throat with the barely restrained roaming of his hands, gliding all over you, squeezing, muscular arms locking your tight against him.
of course, you do the only reasonable thing you can do - kiss him back, absorbing the vibrations of each uncontrollable growl and replying with simple mewls of your own, squeaking when you feel hands at the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up so that he can carry you far from the bookshelf.
you don't notice the pit in your stomach dissipating while you card your fingers through his hair, running your palms over his cheeks and along his jaw, nor do you notice the sudden lightness of your heart, appearing just as he pulls back and whispers promises of devotion before diving for your lips once more.
you can only pay attention to the taste of him, working you free of your own selfish guilt with every cunning swipe of his tongue. you can only acknowledge the liberty he gives you when he finally sets you down, back against the cotton, navy duvets of his bed.
strings of saliva are the only things connecting your mouths when you pull back for air, and nanami doesn't even bother trying to prevent the way his hips rut against yours, panting confessions in between kisses like any form of silence would kill him.
"thought you were s-smarter." he hisses, "thought you'd have figured it out by now."
you whimper when he nibbles on your bottom lip, growing wetter by the second, pressing your thighs together as subtly as you can to avoid the embarrassment of letting him know that you might need this, that you might actually need him.
he notices anyway.
"how could i- ohyou'resopretty- how could i not love you-?"
"love?" you breathe, mouth dropping open as he sucks a mark into your neck, making no move to push him away despite the caution in your tone, "ken- mmf!"
he's smothering you in wet, clingy kisses before you can denounce his admission, snarling into your cheek when your hands find his belt, fumbling with the buckle until the whole thing slides free from the beltloops, falling to the floor with a muffled clink!
"don't-" he spits out, and nanami forces himself to lift his head, properly allowing himself to look at you, eyes wide, pupils swallowing all colour in his eyes, lips parted and swollen from the force he'd used to kiss you senseless. "don't you dare."
for a moment, everything pauses, nothing but heavy, rushed panting, and the faint rustle of clothing filling the atmosphere between you both.
your eyes narrow him, pretty lashes fluttering as you search his face for an explanation. "what- what did i do?"
"you were going to deny all of this." nanami mutters, "you were going to tell me that this isn't exactly what you know it is."
"i didn't say anything about love, ken-"
"but you feel it." he snaps. "you fucking feel it. i know you do."
the hands twisted in his shirt tightens imperceptibly - you find yourself at a loss for words, because what could you possibly say in response to that? it wasn't as if you knew how you felt yourself. "who are you to tell me that?"
his eyes flicker with something you'd never seen directed at you before - annoyance. it unsettles you, it arouses you. "who am i to tell you?" he mumbles, glaring down at you as you squirm under him.
the gradual press of his cock, rock-hard and twitching behind the fabric of his trousers, has you whimpering faintly, glancing down to see where his hips are flush against yours, separated by torturous layers of fabric.
"i'm the only one who can make you feel this way." he rumbles into your ear, "i'm the only one who feels like home to you."
you swallow, mouth opening and closing, forming around words that you'll never be able to say.
"tell me otherwise." nanami insists, his tone shifting from something agitated and fierce to a more mellow lilt, pleading with you to deny him so that he'll know better. "tell me you don't want this - that you haven't wanted this for just as long as i have."
your jaw closes with a faint click, followed by the weak sound of you gulping.
nanami watches with rapt anticipation as your gaze turns distant, thinking, remembering, his entire body practically trembling with lawless desire, reined in by the skin of his teeth. who could fight your allure, after all? nanami certainly couldn't, especially not with you under him, lips kissed raw from the force of his longing.
it takes only a few seconds for you to recall whispered promises spoken beneath freshly washed blankets covering childhood beds, and the scent of nanami's cologne as he'd tugged you into some hidden corner, both of you barely teenagers, handing you concert tickets, convincing you to go via his puppy-soft gazes.
you recollected how you'd felt in those moments - light, so full and bursting with an emotion that you were too scared to name, and felt too strongly to deny.
how odd, to be so capable of fencing off your heart from the people who had begged on their hands and knees for just a taste of you, and yet rendered so helpless when nanami was the one who implored you to look inward.
maybe it was because he didn't want you to change that made you so vulnerable. maybe the way he looked at you, so adoring, so worshipful of you, because of your shortcomings rather than despite them was the reason why you were shaking your head.
"please, kento." you bite your lower lip, struggling to force the words out of you, but managing it anyway - for him, "need you."
you see a different side of nanami the minute you finish your sentence.
he'd knelt for you before - to help you put on your shoes when you were sick and didn't feel like leaning down, or during that school recital that you'd both been forced to do as children (where he'd first developed a thirst for being your hero).
but never like this.
never with his lips shining from a mixture of your saliva and his glasses all askew, barely balancing on his nose, large hands gripping your legs and pulling you to the edge of his bed where he'd sunk down to both of his knees, groaning at the sight of your skirt, all wrinkled and barely covering the whites of your cute panties.
nanami swallows thickly, damp, golden strands clinging to his forehead from the light sheen of sweat covering his skin, borne from the rapid thumping of his heart and the utter restraint it took not to devour you until nothing was left.
but, he was a gentleman, first and foremost - that's why his eyes never leave yours, delicately placing a kiss on your inner thigh, "you sure, pretty?"
the nod is immediate, without a doubt, and nanami smiles. another kiss is placed on your thigh, higher up, tentative.
your breath hitches when his mouth drags lightly from your thigh over to your pussy, hot breath fanning out over your panties, deft fingers pushing up the hem of your skirt, guiding your legs apart until he's knelt comfortably between them.
nanami swears faintly as he hooks his fingers around the waistband of your underwear and starts to pull down, revealing that gorgeous cunt he'd always known you had, mouth watering at the mere sight of you.
your panties fall to the floor, ignored, skirt following soon after, until nanami is free to lean forward and press a kiss right over your needy pussy, mouth pursing above your clit. his cock twitches at the sound of your whimper, palming himself through the fabric of his jeans.
you're so sensitive, so precious - he can't believe he's been able to deny himself you for so long.
large hands splay across your outer thighs, keeping your hips still when he finally nuzzles in, guiding both legs over his shoulders until he's comfortably got the lower half of his face buried into your cunt. you squeak when the bridge of his nose nudges your aching clit, earning a fond chuckle from the man between your legs.
"ken…" you breathe, and whine when his tongue finally slips out of his mouth to lick a wide stripe up your slit, parting your folds and making your shudder with the sudden wet pleasure.
he can only groan in response, too obsessed with having his fill, abusing your poor little pussy with firm, consistent flicks of his pointed tongue, to even consider nehaving himself.
slick oozes out of you, drenching his chin in your delicious syrup as nanami eats you out like a man starved.
your back arches when you feel his finger sink into you, walls clenching down on the thick digit as your hips stutter into his mouth, thighs squeezing around his ears, the legs of his glasses digging into the side of his head, grounding him. he pulls out his finger, and then sinks in again with twice as many, pumping into you, curling at just the right spots to make you choke out his name in ecstasy.
you taste like heaven - you taste like all he's ever worked for, rolled up into one. nanami laps at your pussy like a dog in heat, his raging hard-on ignored for the time being; you were all the mattered.
still, it was hard to concentrate, after all, who could keep their head when the wet squelches of your cunt were just so enticing?
every slight ridge of his knuckles as he fucks his fingers into you has you whimpering loudly, lewd noises falling from your glossy lips as he works you into a frenzy - all of it was too much and not enough, setting you free and chaining your heart to his in a synchornised dance of nervous adoration.
he stretches you open with the insistent scissoring of his fingers inside of you, spreading that tight little ring of muscle until you're nothing but a writhing mess under his mouth, gushing out waves of slick until the sheets beneath you are drenched.
"k-kennnn~" your head is thrown back now, grinidng up into him, chasing friction by rubbing your face against his gorgeous nose as much as you can get away with, mewling faintly in frustration when his hands grip you solidly, forcing you still.
there's that welcomed heat pooling in your lower stomach, making your walls pulse around his calloused fingers tighter, a subtle tell that you were close, so close that if he just twisted his fingers up a little more and sucked on your clit a little harder you'd-
it's almost painful when his fingers slide out of you fully, and you struggle not to force your thighs around his retreating head so that he can place his talented mouth back on you and finish the job.
you're just about to complain, mouth falling open, eyelashes fluttering down at him, tears threatening to spill from being denied the right to cum, when nanami tilts his head up to look at you.
oh.
oh.
he looks positively crazed - mouth slightly ajar and panting, eyes blown wide as he absorbs the sight of you, chin dripping with your wetness. the glint in his eye is almost scary, had you not always known that nanami would rather die than ever harm you, or put his pleasure above your own.
you barely have a few seconds to acknowledge the way he looks before he's surging upwards, your legs still on his shoulders, capturing your lips in another heated, frantic kiss, and folding your entire body in half.
you whine loudly at the sudden change in position, hiccuping out a sob when you feel one of his thumbs messily running through your folds before finding your clit with ease, rubbing harsh little circles into the bundle of nerves until you're a jolting, trembling mess - his other hand working to kick off his trousers and tug his boxers down until they've fallen at his ankles.
you make make the mistake of glancing south to catch of glimpse of his cock, and the sight itself was far from disappointing.
he was bigger than you thought he'd be - bigger than you've ever seen, let alone felt, his flared tip blushing a rosy pink, beads of pre dribbling out and down his enormously long, girthy cock, pretty bluish-greenish veins running up and down the length of it, until your eyes settled on the trimmed, neat blonde hairs at his base.
"you can take it." his breath fans out over your ear, wet tongue sliding across the hinge of your jaw as you shuddered and mewled in response.
"k-ken- a-haah- won't- it won't- mngf!"
"trust me, pretty, you gotta- hngh! oh fuck-" his forehead falls against yours when his tip kisses your pussylips, both of his hands coming up to grip your calves, ensuring that you wouldn't be able to get out of his meannn mating press any time soon.
"trustmetrustmetrustme-" he babbles, "i'm gonna mngh-hah! ken's gonna make it fit, 'kay? this pretty pussy can take all of me, 'm sure-"
you wail when he starts pushing into you, legs shaking as his cock slides inside, barely managing to take how thick he is without losing your mind.
"ffffffu-uckk," he groans, loud and harsh against the skin of your temple, eyes rolling to the back of his head as your pussy flutters around him, weak pulsating walls trying their best to accommodate his suffocating size. "so- hngh! so tight…oh my poor baby- mmn…"
he starts kissing away tears that you hadn't been aware of prior, too busy trying to keep up with the gradual sink of his cock into your raw pussy and the sound of his grunts as he struggles to make it all fit.
by the time his tip manages to kiss your cervix, you swear that you can feel him in your throat - who'd have thought that your childhood best friend would be so big? your hands grapple to find purchase on his sweat-slicked skin, whimpering at the sound of his groan when he finally bottoms out, rocking his hips against yours in slow, miniscule movements.
it takes a few, long seconds for the both of you to catch up - minds melted into useless puddles of goo within your skulls.
nanami swear's he's lost all his sanity because of your sloppy pussy. all hookups prior to you meant nothing to begin with, but now he's certain that they couldn't even compare.
you practically bawl when he starts moving, the recurrent slapping of his balls against your ass fills the room, heavy, filthy, so lewd that you're sure you'd both put seasoned pornstars to shame.
you can't think of anything else but his cock inside of you, the angle of your hips daring him to hit deeper, bullying your delicate g-spot until you're reduced to nothing more than a drooling wreck, sobbing out cries of his name in time with his bullying thrusts.
"been- oh shit- been waitin' to do this for years, pretty-" nanami babbles, "been needing you so, so, so- hngh! so bad. woulda gone insane without you- woulda fu- haa~ fffffucked my hand to the thought of you 'til my dick fell off-"
saliva pools at the back of your mouth due to the angle the mating press keeps you in, unrelenting, your muscles aching, jittery with overwhelming pleasure - everything feels so good, you're only just managing to keep up with his raving.
"d'ya- d'ya know how much it- shiit- it hurt to see you come home with those idiots?" you're reminded faintly of your previous habits - bringing home your boytoy of the month for the sake of appeasing your parents and letting them believe you'd finally found someone worthy.
you'd never thought it would have annoyed nanami so much, and you'd never have done it to spite him - he was your ken, above all.
"didn't- oh kenn-hngh! didn't mean to-"
"i know." he snarls, pushing his forehead into yours as more blood rushes from his head straight to his cock, reptitive plaps! filling his room like lewd wedding bells. "but 'm never lettin' it happen again."
he pulls your hips closer, folds you even more than you thought yourself capable, the pace of his hips cruel, possessive. "'m gonna fill this pussy up, yeah?" nanami grins, manic, "gonna fill m'girl sooo mngh~ full that she won't want anything else, okay?"
your pussy clamps down at his words, seeing stars as he continues to fuck you senseless, sentences leaving your mouth in an incoherent blabber - begging him to cum inside, whimpering about how sorry you are that you'd ignored him for so long, and it's because you didn't like how he made you feel so soft and so meek and so full of emotion and oh god you love him youlovehimyoulovehim-
"i love you too-" nanami grunts, and briefly you conjure up the strength to blink back into reality and realise what you'd just confessed, "i've loved you always, pretty- fuck! couldn't've loved anyone else hngh! had to be you- it had to be you."
but the severity of it doesn't hit you, in fact, you doubt it'll ever hit you, because once said aloud you recognise the truth of it all; your ken, darling ken, who'd never left your side even though you'd aimed to leave his, who'd wait at your doorstep for years without your asking - he alone was worthy of your love, of your commitment.
"i'll treat you so good-" he pants into your open mouth, groaning as the slippery noises of his cock sliding in and out of your cunt reverberates around the room, the weak pulsing of your walls aiming to milk him dry, telling him that you're close, "i'll buy you- n-ngh-ah! buy you everything. 'm gonna work hard to get us a nice house, 'kay, pretty? 'n' an eeven bigger ring- shit- that way you- you won't ever leave me again."
you mewl loudly against his cheek, mouth falling open so wide as a guttural moan rips out of you, back arching off of his mattress, "ken- kennnnn~ m'gonna- ohgodimgonna-"
and suddenly you're cumming with a silent cry, croaking out a few pathetic whines as he fucks you through it, his pace erratic and uncontrolled - with a choked whisper of your name, nanami follows soon after, spilling into you with a carnal groan, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to have you mewling beneath him.
you feel the inconsistent spurting of his cum inside of you, every strained twitch of his cock as he grapples with reality again.
nanami collapses over you with a huff, finally allowing your legs to fall free from their place on his shoulders.
for a long, careful stretch of time, neither of you say a word.
instead, nanami gets straight to caring for you, meaningful little kisses peppered along where he'd bitten previously unmarred skin, up the line of your neck and across your cheeks.
you smile as he does so, brushing back his hair weakly, letting him slide you further back onto his bed to cover you and himself in warm blankets, his chest to your back, face pressed into the nape of your neck, breathing you in.
surprisingly, you're the first to break the quiet.
"ken?"
"yeah, 'm here." he whispers. neither of you speak louder than a murmur. neither of you are able to.
"i'm not an easy person to love, kento." you mutter, muscles sore and aching, but still buzzing with the glorious pleasure of your orgasm earlier - you focus on those feelings rather than the familiar, growing pit in your gut.
"i know." your heart sinks a little, "and i'll keep by you anyway." he hums, "i loved you first. i've loved you longest. you're mine. being scared of it doesn't change how i feel."
"you deserve more than me - more than what i'm capable of giving you."
"don't sell yourself short." you smile a little as he speaks - he sounds like he's fighting to stay awake, and you're proven right when he muffles a yawn into your neck, "you're all i'll ever need."
his breathing evens out right after, and you sigh. maybe he's right. whatever the case was, you'd try your best for him, you'd be the best for him.
for your darling, darling ken.
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ (a/n): hi everyone, just a cheeky reminder that my asks are open, as are requests to be put on my permanent taglist!! love you all! don't forget to check out my ao3: @nanahidesingroves!!
GIRL VANILLA LITERALLY BECAME MY SIGNATURE SCENT BECAUSE OF THIS FANFIC😭🫶 i was thinking about getting the billie eilish one but its always out of stock where i live 💔
btw, do you think sukuna would like Tom Fords tobacco vanilla👀? I sell perfumes and every time i smell it i think of him 😭😭 thank you for replying!! this fanfic saved lives 🙏 love youu🩷
WHAT NO WAY OMG ANON I LOVE YOU AAAAA IM GONNA MANIFEST THAT THE EILISH ONE IS IN STOCK THE NEXT TIME YOU LOOK FOR IT SO THAT WE CAN BE TWINS
(and yesss i TOTES think that sukuna would like tom ford’s tobacco vanilla - specifically i think he’d wear it AFTER getting with reader, and he’d wear the more leathery scents before her, but overall he’d just smell so tasty omg i want him so bad)
heyy, i just wanted to say i LOVED your fanfic. Were you describing a specific vanilla perfume or was it just chosen scent? asking for a friend ahaha 👀🫶
haiiiiiiii yes i was describing a specific perfume LAWL - it’s Eilish by Billie Eilish, and it’s specifically the scent that comes in the golden bottle omg it’s sooooo yummy and sweet i love it
i guess you could kinda call the sukuna fic a partial self insert because it’s kinda my signature scent and i put so much emphasis on it and i think i also mentioned that sukuna wears tom ford colognes at some point????? GIGGLE he’s so dreamy
anyway if you’re thinking about getting it i ONE MILLION PERCENT recommend pookie love you so much ok bai ;)
synopsis: ༄ sobriety means nothing in the name of love, it seems, and sukuna is just another victim to it.
what happens when he can't stop thinking about you, and the bottle of your perfume that he owns has just run out?
〃✦ ┆word count: 11.6k
Pushing it Down and Praying (Pt. 4 - finale)
(Lizzy McAlpine)
▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•
➢(part one: softer.), (part two: harder.), (part three: in between.)
warnings: MDNI!!! swearing, hate sex/makeup sex, oral sex (fem! receiving), vaginal fingering, p in v sex, mild crying, feelings, hair pulling, YEARNING, a little begging, missionary, slight tattoo-tracing
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ (a/n): hello everyone! i can hear all of you cry out in shock, "nana's back from the dead!", and you're all correct!! I am back and still surviving (somehow). i'm so terribly sorry that this final chapter has taken so long, but life has continually been fucking me up my ass, no glue, no borax, no LUBE, so please forgive me.
due to many requests, i have decided that the yearning in this chapter will be astronomical, and i hope that as a finale to this much loved series, you will enjoy this ending just as much as you have the others <3
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────
"i fucked up."
sukuna stumbles, trips over his feet, balancing himself against your doorway. your heart hammers despite having just woken up, glancing at your wall to see that the clock's hands are pointing to ten past three in the morning.
it had been approximately two months since you'd both blown up at each other, and in the meantime there had only been radio silence. no calls. no speaking. not even looking at each other when you walked by.
just down-turned eyes and trembling hands.
and now he's here. tripping over himself, shoes squeaking pathetically as he tries to take a step forward, swearing when he fights with his coat, trying to slip it off of his shoulders to no avail. your room stinks of alcohol - the familiar, sickening aroma of vodka makes you wrinkle your nose, accompanied by the faintest musk of sweat and that cologne.
you freeze, eyes narrowing as you finally manage to clock what's going on: ryomen sukuna, in your room, muttering profanities as his leather jacket hangs from one arm and he's leaning against your doorframe, drunkenly pawing at the shoe of his lifted foot, thick fingers fumbling with the laces, trying to push it off.
he senses you looking at him, strands of pink hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat dampening his skin, vermillion eyes bright and tinged red at the edges. they drop down to the distance between you both - three, maybe even four, feet of space from where he's stood in the open doorway to your dorm, hugging your arms across your chest.
sukuna coughs, runs his eyes over the bare skin of your arms and legs, disappointed to find that you were back to sleeping in your own t-shirts as opposed to his. the disappointment turns heavier, makes another lump form in his throat.
"i fucked up." he mumbles, head dropping down to watch his hand push at the heel of his shoe, and you swallow thickly as he rambles, "i fucked up, babe, and 'm-" he hiccups, swaying dangerously, "oh fuck- i didn't mean nothin' to ya, and that's okay. 's just-"
"sukuna, get out."
your voice rings clearer than you thought you'd be able to force it to, and somehow you're stepping towards him, clenching your jaw as the acrid smell of vodka and cologne mixes in the air, more concentrated and sickening as you get closer.
his head snaps up, and he shakes it vehemently, still trying to get his fucking shoe off, his temper growing because his feet are too big and his fucking fingers are too clumsy to untie the laces like he wants them to and he keeps muttering, muttering, muttering- "nah, nah, nah, wanna stay. wanna stay and sleep. gotta sleep in your bed otherwise 'm gonna throw up-"
"sukuna." you reach him, biting down on your lower lip and chewing delicately as you debate what to do. maybe calling toji might help - you could swallow your pride for an hour to help him drive sukuna home - but it's unlikely he'll pick up the phone for you in the first place, especially since he's probably in a worst state than sukuna.
you push the faint idea of calling satoru out of your head immediately - there'll be no physical altercations tonight.
red eyes meet yours. even slumped against the doorframe, he still towers a couple inches above you. the door is still open - if any of your flatmates decided to grab a midnight snack, you're done for. still, closing the door meant giving in; he'll take it as admission and end up forcing himself into your bed and stinking up your sheets.
your thoughts are broken by another loud, "hic!" and sukuna losing balance, clawing at the wall briefly before he feels himself falling-
but then it's you again. warm, beautiful you, hurrying forwards and huffing as you manage to slow his descent to the floor, lowering him as gently as you can onto your carpet. he hears the door shut and grunts at the familiarity of the sound.
soft hands move his face to and fro - and it takes everything for his alcohol-addled brain to keep up with you, head slumping forward. his arms feel heavy, so heavy, and his muscles ache, but he lifts them anyway, clawing gently at the back of your shirt, dragging his nails down your spine. his eyes flutter, nose dragging against your cheek as his face dips forward.
"i fucked…up." he murmurs, pushing his head into your shoulder.
it doesn't matter that you tense, it doesn't matter that you don't hug him back. all that's important is the smell of vanilla gently filling his nose and the feeling of your skin finally on his again.
"you stink." your brows furrow, wrinkling your nose as you try your best to avoid breathing in too harshly. sukuna smells like he's been slumming it out in some alleyway for the past few hours. "how drunk are you?"
"mm." he presses you closer to him, arms winding around your torso. there's the faintest whisper of your name, right into your ear, and he says it again, and again, like he's taking bites out of you.
for a moment, you listen. he keeps muttering your name, your heart twists in your chest. "sukuna, baby, you can't stay here."
"ryo." he corrects, pulling back, and you savour the freedom you have now to breathe, watching him sniffle and wipe his nose with the back of his hand, "used t'call me ryo."
you stare at each other for a few beats.
then, you whisper.
"not anymore, sukuna."
he scowls, or pouts, rather, the skin between his brows wrinkling. he notices you don't smoothe it out like you used to. the frown deepens, "why?"
a snort escapes you, and you shake your head and look away. what a weird situation you find yourself in - knelt between the legs of your ex-bestfriend while he sits on the floor and slumps against your wall. a month ago, and you would have imploded at the idea. two months since the argument had passed and now you're just…impassive.
tired.
"you've drank too much." the sound of clothes rustling fills the air between you both as you move to slide his jacket off of his arm, throwing it in a corner somewhere so that he stinks up the place a little less.
sukuna doesn't let up, "why?" trembling fingers find the hem of your t-shirt, gently twisting the fabric in his firm grip to ensure you stay nearby, "'s 'cause i fucked up, right?" you press your lips together and try to lean back - sukuna huffs and straightens up, head following yours.
"well, 'm sorry. real sorry. call me ryo again, now, please?" his voice cracks as he pleads with you, and for a small moment, you pause.
but then you remember that this was always how it works amongst men like him; this was a new version of cowardice that you'd never thought you'd see from sukuna, showing up drunk and fumbling his way into your room, begging for forgiveness while he slurs his words, knowing he has the escape-route of blaming it on the alcohol if it goes awry.
but you don't have it in you to blow up at him. not yet. not again.
instead you just push back the strands of hair sticking to his forehead, watching his eyelids grow heavy, and the way he tilts his face to chase the warmth of your palm with his cheek. two months ago, you would have accommodated him.
two months ago, you would have kissed his temple and traced the tattoos on his face with the tips of your fingers.
but you're well aware he doesn't deserve that anymore. you aren't sure if you deserve it either.
"that's not how it works, sukuna." you murmur.
his eyes open, and confusion ripples across his expression. then, it's anger. then, it's frustration.
"i said 'm sorry." he grits out, fist tightening it's grip on your shirt.
"so?" you reach down and carefully wrap your fingers around his wrist, slender digits covering the two black, tattooed lines beneath. a warning. a reminder. "you think just saying it drunk is good enough? you think just saying it at all is going to make everything fine again?"
a low, intimidating sound rumbles out from his chest as his face twists into one of scorn. you watch the way his lips draw back, baring teeth, his tongue struggles to pick out what his inebriated mind wants him to say.
it's a losing battle.
all that comes out is a quiet snarl, heated, before his shoulders sag and he lets go.
silence reigns supreme for more than a couple minutes. you move to sit across from him, close enough so that when he closes his eyes, he can still press his knee against yours and know that he's safe. that he's exactly where he wants to be.
in the time that you wait, all you do is stare at the clock and think. it's a struggle to try and rein in your emotions when a large flurry of memories whiz around in your head.
you'd thought two months would be long enough for you to move on, to kick him out when he shows up drunk at your door. what a stupid assumption - it was never that easy with sukuna.
"i…" you jolt slightly as his voice croaks out the beginnings of a sentence, and you turn your face to find his eyes already trained on yours. "i still-" he coughs, head lolling forward from both the alcohol and exhaustion, and he can barely muster up the strength to say anything else except a dry sob of your name.
you cave.
immediately, you're shuffling forward on your knees, cooing, arms wrapping around his neck, guiding his face into the crook of your shoulder and patting his back as he sniffles and clings to your shirt.
you feel something wet against your skin, feel his shoulders tremble, notice the faintest whimpers filling the air despite the insistent silence. and through it all, you don't mention it - you just hold him while he shakes, and don't make a sound when his nails dig too harshly into your sides as he grapples for security.
you know that in the morning, when all is said and done, when he's sober, he'll be more upset about his wounded pride than losing you. and that's alright, because you'll live. from the looks of it, he won't - he needed this.
by the time he pulls away, his face is a mess - a beautiful, chiselled mess, but a mess nonetheless.
you grab the nearest tissues at hand and wipe down his cheeks and nose, whispering sweetly against his temple as he shudders, the hand clasping his chin traces soothing lines against his jaw with your thumb. eventually, he settles.
"fuck." he grunts out, taking deep breaths in, like how you told him to, and you stop what you're doing to glance at him.
his eyes have never left your face. not once. they rarely leave your lips, either, and sukuna wishes he could rewind to two months ago, back to when you'd kissed him outside in the hallway and asked if he wanted to stay the night.
(he would've changed his answer - would have said "fuck yes" and crawled into bed with you, and in the morning afterwards he'd kiss you awake, and there'd be no losing you. not then, not ever.)
instead, he's stuck between a rock and a hard place - all he can think about is tilting his head forward and kissing you again, tempted by the moonlight filtering through your window bathing you in the most beautiful light, and how you still smell the same.
but he's sure he stinks - even with the alcohol blurring his senses he can smell the unpleasant musk of sweat and vodka clinging to his clothes and skin, and he's sure he wouldn't taste good either.
nevertheless, he loves you. very much. and you're so pretty and out of his league and he's been staring at you in silence for the past five minutes and-
"i heard you 'n uh…gojo are a thing, now." he whispers.
sukuna watches as your eyes narrow briefly, and the lines around your mouth tighten.
"no." you whisper back. "we aren't."
relief mingles with the tension in his body, and his eyes flicker over your expression. he knows that this was unfair on you - appearing out of nowhere after two months just to wake you up in the silly hours of the morning when you should be sound asleep.
but there had been no toji to stop him when he stumbled to your building (toji, of course, having crawled under a bush nursing a small bottle of whiskey), and he'd only been thinking about you more and more as the days and months passed.
sukuna blinks as he tries to form a few more coherent thoughts to defend himself and win you back - he's sure he'd taken an unspoken vow of celibacy since you'd slapped him in gojo's bathroom. he'd changed - he knows he has, and everyone seems to know it, too. everyone except you.
which should be mildly impossible, all things considered - how rumours of his saintly self-control spreading through the campus seemed to avoid you like the plague was a mystery to him.
sukuna wonders if it's the universe trying to tell him that he's no good for you, that there's no celestial plan that has you and him written in the stars.
the thought makes him angry, to the point where you're left wondering why he's curling his hands into fists, nails scraping faintly along the line of your waist, breathing turned heavy.
and there's that familiar wrinkle, right between two naturally thick, unkempt, dark pink eyebrows.
("you're gonna get wrinkles here," you murmur, pressing your thumb over the furrowed skin, carefully smoothing it out before taking the tweezers and fluidly plucking a singular hair. it leaves the skin slightly reddened, and sukuna winces, "if you keep frowning."
faint music filters into the air. soft. slow. mildly sexual.
you try to ignore the subtle allure of the lyrics - it's not your playlist, but his, after all, and it wasn't your request to pluck his eyebrows, but his. nonetheless, whatever ulterior message he's trying to send you will dissipate into the grey area your relationship stands on.
still, sukuna thinks he's in heaven.
because you're here.
half on top of him, one of his arms supporting your lower back as you dig your elbows into the pillow either side of his head, face hovering literal centimetres above his own, smoothing out his eyebrows with your fingers, pressing the cool metal of your tweezers into his skin before plucking, plucking, plucking.
and like some criminal, he gets away with using that same arm that's around you to press your chests closer - his heart near to your own. sukuna thinks that if he breathes deeply enough, slowly enough, your fates might intertwine with the synchronised beat of that warm, pulsating organ inside the both of you.
two minds, one soul - that's all he needs, all he craves.
"yeah?" he whispers - you feel the cool slide of his gaze run over your cheeks, your nose…your lips. "maybe y'should stay long 'nough to see all of me wrinkle."
you snort and keep plucking. the skipping of your heart goes ignored.
he doesn't tear his eyes away, barely even closes them when he winces. "'m sayin' i want you with me when 'm old, babe."
you pause, tearing your eyes away from his brows (wonderfully neat, if you do say so yourself), to look down at him, confused, mostly, but also reverent, like he knows exactly how to get to you.
then, you speak, "i'll stay for as long as you deserve, ryo.")
for as long as he deserves.
the words run circles around his head, so vivid and loud it's almost as if he can see them spinning in some cartoonish halo, whirring and whirring and whirring all over the place until he feels sick. you grunt as his head falls into your collarbone heavily.
you feel him nuzzle his nose into you, once, twice, smearing wet tears too silent to acknowledge.
and sukuna knows, he fucking knows, that he deserves nothing from you - especially not you staying, of all things.
and he knows that he doesn't deserve the way you handle him so gently, helping him to his feet, or the way you coo as he stumbles and throws up into your toilet, his groans filling the air as nothing but liquid rises up and out, rubbing his back and carding your fingers through his hair like he's something delicate.
nor is he entitled to the way you situate him with his back to the shower, tilting his head back with the lightest push of your thumb under his chin, showerhead in hand as it clears the air a little from the sour odour of vodka and sweat.
he does nothing to warrant the careful massage of shampoo rubbed into his scalp, or the facewash rubbed onto his skin, only to be rinsed off by a gentle shower of warm water and the quietest words of comfort murmured into his ear.
and he can't handle the way you stand in front of him, eyes almost closed from exhaustion, hair towel-dried and damp as you urge his mouth open and brush his teeth so lovingly it makes his heart clench. it's with your toothbrush, too. you used to have a second one, he remembers, kept just in case he stayed over.
now two months had gone and there's nothing left of what once was.
and it's all his fault.
"didn't mean-" it's hushed, almost mouthed instead of spoken aloud, but you listen. sukuna dips his head down low, leaning his hips back against the edge of the sink where he stands, "didn't mean to…uh- f-fffuck those other girls." he splutters.
you raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. he frowns and grapples for the right words.
"i mean i…well, i did but- uh- guess i was always…was always thinkin' of you." he sees a muscle in your jaw tick, your brows furrowing further, and sukuna swallows thickly, lashes fluttering weakly. "i know you're mad at me, babe, and 'm real fuckin' sor-"
"enough."
his eyes widen, and despite the blurred edges of his vision, sukuna realises that you're trembling with either rage or hurt. maybe both. definitely both.
"i'm not gonna listen to this, sukuna-"
"ryo." he insists.
"no. it's gonna be 'sukuna' until you can get your fucking act together." you snap. sukuna jolts, the sharp edge to your voice sparking tension throughout all of his body, and he gives you this look, like he's some mutt you'd kicked after feeding.
your shoulders sag, dragging your hand down over your face in some farce attempt to physicaly wipe off your disdain.
"come on," you sigh, leading his weight off of the sink and onto you - he takes the close proximity warmly, murmurs coming out in some incoherent mixture of words as you lead him from your bathroom to your bed. "bed time."
his head whips up, a hopeful gleam in his eye, one that you can't bear to smother. "bed time." he repeats, pressing closer to you. his breath smells of your toothpaste, now - minty, pleasant, and hot air fans over your cheek as he pushes his nose into your cheek.
there's the muffled noise of him breathing you in - slow, deep, like he hopes to inhale your soul with just a lungful of air.
"bed time means y'gotta…y'gotta rest with me." he mutters, "means y'gotta lemme hold ya again, right?"
you're dead silent as his hands slide around your waist, gliding over smooth skin to meet at your lower back. he tugs you close, and you still don't speak, not until he's had enough of the ache in his feet from standing up for so long.
sukuna is merciful enough to let you go before collapsing backwards onto your mattress, groaning with loud ecstasy as he sinks into the plush blankets and pillows, giggling softly as he's swarmed by an army of stuffed animals and plushies.
warily, you slide under the covers, back against the headboard, watching him.
moonlight illuminates his face like it does yours, and he's oblivious to how your eyes track the movement of his facial tattoos when he smiles, sluggishly throwing one of your teddy-bears to the side to give himself more room. there's a small shadow where his smile-lines reside, a small crinkle at the corners of his eyes where crow's-feet form.
it's not long before he searches for you again, whispering your name under his breath like a mantra, repeated and repeated as he crawls over to you, grunting when he sinks down and buries his face into your thigh.
you do nothing but watch - he takes initiative, drunkenly reaching for one of your wrists, forcing your fingers into his damp hair. sukuna hums when he feels your digits curl through his tresses, tugging gently just once before moulding around the curve of his skull.
"missed you sooo fuckin' bad." he giggles, tilting his head back, vermillion irises half hidden behind droopy eyelids, and there's this stupid, crooked grin on his face, one that makes your lips tingle with want.
because there's nothing that you wouldn't give up just to kiss him.
nothing except your pride.
sukuna doesn't seem to notice. maybe he just doesn't care. maybe he's just too happy to be there, with you, again. another tired giggle leaves him, shoulders shaking with relief - it's been months since his body had known anything else other than tension.
"y'know i…i cried like a fuckin' baby when y'left." he snorts, but his voice takes on a lamenting lilt, like even drunk he feels the weight of your absence on his chest. "didn't…didn't get outta bed for weeks." his hand, rough, gentle, strokes the outside of your thigh, and you listen with more of an ache to your chest.
you shouldn't be listening to him, shouldn't be indirectly taking advantage of his talkative state so that you could finally get a glimpse of what made him tick.
but you'd been hurt by his silence, too.
"sukuna." you whisper, stroking his head, "you have to stop talking, baby."
"no, no, no, i gotta tell ya-"
"you'll regret it in the morning, ryo." a lump forms in your throat at the thought. every apology, every kind word and beg for forgiveness, every attempt at reconciliation caused nothing but complications and heartache - all of it was temporary.
there was no stopping the from sun rising, or preventing the alcohol in his bloodstream from wearing off.
and there was nothing stopping him from leaving again.
"ryo." your silent grieving is paused for a moment, just briefly, by a small voice muffled into your lap, repeating the nickname.
"ryo." sukuna mumbles, exhaling a long, careful breath, eyes no longer open, heartbeat even, barely awake, "ryo, ryo, ryo."
the hand stroking your thigh stops, thick fingers resting against your skin, and you just…watch, and say nothing as all stress from his face melts off, and you're left with the sukuna ryomen that only you know, that only you are aware exists.
"nah," he sighs, "there's no regrettin' you, babe."
it's the clearest sentence he'd spoken all night - free from the underlying slur of alcohol and a misbehaving tongue.
minutes pass by with barely a noise; just the sound of his breathing, short puffs of breath hitting the bare skin of your thighs where your shorts fail to cover your legs, and the echo of your thoughts resounding into nothingness, always out of reach - if you hadn't been used to it, you're sure the frustration would have killed you by now.
by the time you glance at the clock (swallowing your dread upon coming to realise that it was already half four in the morning - with a lecture at nine, no less), sukuna is drooling into your lap.
the faint rustling of your covers is punctuated by his sleepy protests as you shift, lifting his head and guiding it to the closest pillow. muscular arms pull at your waist, and a heavy leg is thrown over your hips. you close your eyes.
by the time sukuna wakes up at noon, his head is ringing, and you're long gone.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
another week passes before you hear from him again.
obviously, after waking up well before your nine a.m. alarm and wiggling slyly out of his hold to get dressed to go to your lecture (with saintly discipline, considering that four and a half hours of sleep was all that you managed to squeeze in), you expected to find an empty bed upon your return.
what you didn't expect, though, was a bed that was actually made.
pillows fluffed up and placed tenderly against your headboard, blankets smoothed out over the mattress without so much as a wrinkle, even your plushies were respectfully lined up against the side closest to the wall - like a little choir, about to serenade you at your welcome return.
everything was so carefully planned out, so lovingly orchestrated to perfection that you wondered if it was truly possible for someone with such rough hands to be capable of this inherent tenderness.
that night, when you slide into the covers, his cologne still lingers.
it's the most restful sleep you've had in two months.
now, a week later, you aren't surprised when the sound of knocks against your door disturb the study session you'd planned for yourself.
waiting had always been one of your strong points, as was foresight. you knew sukuna kept looking at you this past week because you kept looking at him - the pointed whispers of your peers were unnecessary - and when your eyes met from across the cafeteria, and he held your gaze, it was only a matter of time, only a question of who had more patience.
unsurprisingly, it was never going to be you knocking on his door.
your socks shuffle over the carpeted floor of your dorm room, and you glance at yourself in the mirror by the door to fully gouge what sort of trainwreck you would look like; shockingly, you don't look bad. just the same, usual format of clothing: baggy t-shirt (with the words 'two-seater' printed out onto the white fabric in thick, black letters, accompanied by two equally thick arrows pointing to your face and further south - you giggle), and a pair of grey shorts.
comfortable.
more knocks are hurriedly echoing throughout your room, and you give yourself one last, long, wary look, before reaching for your door handle and turning.
and he's there.
sober this time. but looking more upset, more frustrated.
he glowers at you, mouth downturned in the beginnings of a snarl with his brows furrowed. you follow the line of them with your eyes and don't speak as your gaze settles on that familiar crinkle.
"what?"
it's spoken with far less scorn than you'd expected, your voice still strong, still unwavering in the face of a man who dwarfed you and took up almost all of the space in your doorway. his broad shoulders and head block out the light, casting shadows on his face like some sort of demon coming to get you.
sukuna just stares, and wonders if his resolve is as strong as he once thought it was.
(he wakes up with a snort, choking on his drool unceremoniously as he flails around in sheets that he knows aren't his.
the panic is dulled, though - for some reason, the sheets smell familiar. like vanilla.
like-
"oh fuck no." sukuna hisses, pushing himself to sit up despite the faint pounding of his head and the bile rising in his throat, a cascade of stuffed animals and comfortable plushies fall off of the mattress, landing on the carpeted floor with dull thuds.
his hands fly up to his hair, tugging it slightly as panic settles in fully, making a home in his chest (residing right where you used to - where you still are) and his breathing turns quick, unchecked.
what did he do last night? what did he say?
"shit." he whispers, leaning forward until his elbows are resting against his knees, head still in his hands, still drumming some incessant rhythm that aims only to hurt him and put him in a worse mood. "shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!"
a large hand grips one of your plushies on instinct, throwing it against the nearest wall. it squeaks pathetically as it lands, and he forces himself to his feet, pacing.
he thinks about going into your shower and washing the scent of vanilla off of him, and grunts when he realises that it'll only lead to the stronger scent of your shampoo and your soap on his skin.
there's this guttural feeling in his throat, deep and furious - betrayed.
because you left him to wake up in your bed alone, without your hands to wipe his tears like you did hours earlier, without your neck to bury his face into and sleep, without your fingers running through his hair, taming those salmon-pink spikes that he can never get to behave without you.
sukuna pauses at the fallen plushie. his shoulders sag. you don't owe him a thing, and you know that. in fact, you've never been indebted to him, and he'd only made it worse by breaking no contact. how much healing did he undo?
he bends down and picks up the plush, grip firm but not as deathly as when he'd thrown it against the wall. it stares up at him, face sewn into that stupidly dumb expression forever.
part of him thinks it's like looking in a mirror - him and this plushie are one and the same; always at your beck and call, always willing to be used and discarded during the day, just for a chance to be sleeping by you at night.
if you'd had thrown him against the wall, sukuna knows he'd still bounce back, knows he'll still have that same hopeful expression sewn onto his face forever.
he'd love you even if you were mean.
but you weren't mean. and somehow, that made it all the harder to tell you.
all of his exes, one pretty face after the other, all meaningless, all ignored in your shadow. you were the prettiest face he'd ever seen. you were the softest hands he'd ever let hold him. you, who inspired this all-consuming fire of lust and complete adoration, just by being next to him and doing nothing.
he remembers your voice earlier. remembers 'ryo' spoken so helplessly above him with such vivid clarity that everything else he can recall feels like it was all done underwater.
no-one else could get to him so clearly.
sukuna turns, and faces the mess he's made of your bed - sheets strewn everywhere, pillows on the other end of the room from his initial fright at waking up on the mattress of the one person he's been in love with for over a year.
there's a printed version of your timetable pinned to the board above your desk. he glances at it - a nine a.m. lecture and another at two p.m. rough.
he sets the plushie down carefully on the desk.
then, he gets to work.)
his throat feels too dry to speak, but he forces himself to anyway. the downturned angle of his lips ease into something more neutral, but equally as strained, and he looks pale, feels faint - all from the pressure of being stood in front of you with the sole aim of asking for something he doesn't deserve.
he takes too long to come up with something to say, and you narrow your eyes.
"are you sober?"
that stings a lot more than he believes you meant it to. nevertheless, he shakes his head.
"yeah." he coughs out, muscle in his jaw ticking. his hand tightens around something in his jacket pocket, "fully sober."
you stare at one another for a while. no hateful glances, just careful looks. you break the silence again:
"you aren't meant to be here."
"make me leave, then." he whispers, and like the coward he is, he shifts before you can say another word.
slowly, like he's handling something worth more than gold (and to him, it is), sukuna pulls his hand out of his pocket, holding his fist out, waiting for you to look.
warily, you drag your eyes down his arm, reaching the two tattooed, black bands around his thick wrist, following the lines on the back of his palm, observing the curve of his fingers around the thing he was holding.
a bottle - a perfume bottle.
your perfume bottle.
your breath hitches, eyes flying up to meet his determined glower for an explanation, grip on the door handle tightening, confusion (and was that hurt?) scattering across your features alongside the cosy, orange lighting from the lamp inside your room, and the yellow glow from the hallway lights.
"it's empty." he murmurs.
you swallow thickly. "what do you want me to do about it?"
sukuna stops looking at you. his eyes trail along your bedroom wall, all the way down to your desk, where a small collection of perfumes stay. they settle on the bottle identical to the one in his hand.
you follow his line of sight, realisation dawning on your features as he takes his first step into your room. the door handle slips from your grasp, but you keep staring at your desk, at that newly bought bottle of perfume - full and promising.
the door clicks shut. you're now locked in with the one man you shouldn't allow yourself to be alone with.
you say nothing as he steps past you, shoes already slipped off, jacket already hung up by the door, left only in his sweats and a fitted black tee. the empty perfume bottle clicks as he sets it down. he picks up the new one, measures the familiar weight of it in his hands.
"you can't have that." you hiss. hands at your sides curling into fists as the hurt rises. how dare he come into your room just to keep on taking? how dare he take advantage of you again?
"i need it." is his quick reply, childish in his insistence - still staring at the perfume bottle, still avoiding accountability.
"i said you can't have it." tears prick at the corner of your eyes, hands trembling, "you shouldn't even be here, sukuna. get out."
"i've ran out of the old one."
"then buy your own."
"i want yours."
"why?"
that makes him think for a moment, or at least look like he's thinking. in reality, sukuna suspects he's known the answer all along. it's just a question of bravery, a question of courage.
the clock on your wall ticks - half past nine p.m. - filling the room with the noise, sounding like minute death tolls for the both of you. five minutes pass in silence. all both of you seem to do is stare. he searches for anything that isn't you - tries to find the peace that only you could bring out of him in something else - one last time, like a desperate plea to convince himself that he needs no-one.
expectedly, there's nothing but the weight of your gaze on his back.
"why, sukuna?" you repeat again, gentler this time - still bitter, but you'd never been able to bite at him for too long. it'll wear off - you know it will, and so does he.
the gentleness prompts him to speak. "because i can't sleep without smelling you." he whispers, the broad line of his shoulders tensing. "because if it doesn't have your fingerprints on it, it doesn't fuckin' matter."
he's still not facing you.
for the umpteenth time, you admire his profile - the sharp line of his jaw and cheekbone, outlined by the razor-edged black of his tattoos, stark against his tanned skin, the beautiful curve of his nose - large, but sculpted to perfection - and hooded eyes, crimson, paired with messy eyebrows.
he flinches as you step forward, and you wait a while before you do it again. you know he's watching you in his peripheral, trying to fight with his curiosity to remain nonchalant, the perfume bottle still in hand.
"look at me." you murmur. he shakes his head in refusal. "sukuna, look at me."
still nothing.
and then:
"ryo."
he steals a glance at you, just the one, but it's something, and you can barely stand the look of shame and self-loathing littered on his face, the line of his lips tight and strained. the anger in his eyes turn distant as he looks away again - you step closer, he swallows and shifts back.
"haven't fucked anyone since you slapped me." his voice is small, and you pause for a moment, "stopped…stopped drinkin', too. was only 'cause toji thought it'd be a good idea to take me out, y'know, make me take my mind off of you that i drank anythin' last week."
"do you regret it?" you respond, "coming here?"
sukuna scoffs. "nah." just slightly, he turns his head to you, tender eyes meeting your own before turning back to face the wall, "would do it all over again."
his admittance makes your shoulders sag, like the heavy confession that there was still something alive between you both was unbearable, but simultaenously relieving.
"i wanna stay." sukuna utters under his breath, loud enough that it just barely reaches your ears. "just for the night. even if you never wanna talk to me ever again, babe, i-" his voice cracks, hand trembling, "i jus' need t'feel what it's like to be with you again."
you think for a moment - just a quiet hesitation that has his mind reeling - before you nod, and it's all he needs.
faster than he can think, before he can even thank you, you're moving to sit on the edge of your bed, running your hands down your face with practised exhaustion as you settle and stare at the carpeted floor between your feet.
sukuna remains standing, still tense, still unsure on what ground he stands on, what liberties he can take with you. he's aware that it's safer not to ask.
for a long, torturous while, you just stare. the air feels cloudy with awkward tension.
your lamp highlights the both of you in a light too loving to speak of - orange soaks into the black of his tattoos, illuminating the honed lines of his face, darkening the hollows of his cheeks.
sukuna can't even hope to look at you. he knows that what's in store for him is temptation too strong to deny - glorious, beautiful you, steeped in a glow so warm that he doesn't think he could stop himself from jumping into your arms and sobbing.
"why don't you hate me?" he whispers.
the careful, dull sound of your perfume bottle being placed back onto your desk punctuates his sentence - finalising your suspicions.
"do you think that i should?" you return, careful, cautious.
"i know that you should." he responds, palms flat against the surface of your desk, letting out a long, harrowing sigh, eyes closing, back turned towards you.
"who says i don't hate you?"
"don't lie to yourself." he scoffs, a bitter smile graces his features - one you can't see, aren't allowed to see. "you're petty. really fuckin' petty, babe, and 'm a real piece of work. surprised you even let me stay here f'longer than five seconds."
"so am i."
laughter bursts out of him at that - self-depricating laughter that takes him off-guard, and it's loud enough to have you chuckle lightly in return.
the sound makes him freeze. he turns, pupils dilated wide enough to swallow all colour, lips parted.
he takes another shaky inhale.
"i've been a real piece of shit to you." he murmurs, and you tilt your head just so, in such a delicate angle that his palms itch to cup your cheek and feel the warmth of your skin against his.
"yes, you have." your shoulders rise in a dismissive shrug, lashes fluttering just slightly - you don't have the strength in you to reprimand him for any longer than you already have. something in your chest skips a beat instead, making your breathing halt for just a moment. your eyes never leave his.
"i…" he falters before moving, lithe, like a tiger prowling through the trees, limbs practiced and fluid, but the line of his shoulders are oh so stiff, muscles rippling under his shirt. you have to tilt your head back to look at him when he reaches the space in front of you.
but then your head is tilting down, down, down - because he's sinking to his knees, jaw clenched, eyes watering, hands hovering just over your thighs, shaking like he'd recently been left out in the rain to freeze. the words he needs to say choke him when his tongue tries to move, and he looks to you pleadingly, breath hitching as he struggles to take in a lungful of air.
you watch, the tips of your ears flaring a subtle pink, just light enough so that it looks like your composure is unbroken, and when all that escapes him is the tiniest noise of frustration, you lean forward.
electricity crackles between the two of you - so potent you could practically see white-hot streaks of lightning jump from his burning gaze to your own.
a hand rises to cup his chin, thumb brushing his lower lip as your noses touch. he exhales heavily as you tug his lip down, baring his teeth just slightly, and with your next word, sukuna feels you push the life back into him, he feels you cleanse him:
"speak."
for the first time in twenty-four years, sukuna ryomen apologises - truly apologises, from the bottom of his heart.
"i'm sorry."
he swallows, considerate as he nuzzles his nose against yours. hands push your knees apart while he shuffles forward, glad for the repenting ache in his knees.
you watch, arms sliding around his neck on instinct as he rises higher, lowering your back against the mattress, chest pressing into his as your breathing hitches at the cold touch of his fingers, clumsily trying to get under your shirt.
thick digits find purchase on smooth skin. "i'm sorry, babe, fuck 'm sorry'msorry'msorry-" there's the lightest touch of your mouth against his, and sukuna whimpers. "fuckin' hell, 'm so sorry-"
you clench your jaw as you turn your head from his chasing lips, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment when he mouths at the lobe of your ear.
he catches the sound of your gulp with a breathless sigh of his own, his heavy heart only spurring him on further, like your forgiveness is all he craves - paired with the touch of your hands dipping beneath his collar to trace the outline of his spine under his shirt, and the overwhelmingly luxurious smell of vanilla-
"i fucking love you." he hisses out, voice shaky, unable to stop the slight grind of his hard-on against your thigh. "i love you- i love- oh fuck, please, please, babe, look at me."
your eyes meet: his are wide, desperate, pleading, pink strands falling loose across his forehead from where they've been pushed back out of his eyes - yours are half-lidded, excruciatingly deep.
sukuna groans quietly as he feels one of your hands travel it's fingers down his chest, faintly brushing the happy-trail leading down his pelvis, hips stuttering into your palm as you cup him through the fabric of his sweats, your name snarled into your cheek as he uses the steady hand for friction, clutching at the blankets beside your head.
"prove it." you whisper - and unabashedly, he moans at the gentle squeeze you give him, body shuddering at the light kiss you administer to the corner of his mouth. "prove that you love me, prove that you're sorry."
he doesn't have to be told twice.
soft lips, ferocious in their enthusiasm, try to pry yours apart. every swipe of his tongue against your lower lip feels like fireworks sparking along your skin, prompting subtle, full-body shudders to wrack through you.
sukuna snarls softly against your mouth, lifting your hips and pushing you further onto your bed, following after you on his hands and knees like a mutt whose soul is leashed to your own. you feel his hips rock against yours, mouth opening to whine as he grinds down against you, listening intently to the heavy panting and the frustrated whimpers when you just can't seem to keep up.
there's a resentment to it, on your behalf, at least.
every movement is achingly rabid from him - down to the way he grips your shirt and pushes it up to bare your abdomen, head dipping down to drag his tongue up your stomach in one hot stripe, pressing kisses down that same line of saliva he's left to back his words.
you watch him, hands shaking as your fingers tangle themselves in his hair and pull, equally as desperate in your plight to rip through his skin and make a home out of his bones, mouth ready and willing to come into contact with his again.
sukuna surges upward, searching for your mouth with his own again, teeth digging into your lips, a sharp nip against already-swollen skin, and the pain makes you hiss, mouth parting with just enough room to finally give what he wants.
out of spite, you dig your nails forcefully into the skin of his shoulders, driving your body up against his, while stronger hands shove you back down into the mattress as you snarl and pull his hair, aroused by the pure, carnal frustration he brings out of you.
his tongue pushes against yours while his hands roam, exploring the sweet cavern of your maw with unfiltered groans of ecstasy, unbothered by the occasional clink of teeth (like the sound of champagne glasses touching - a distant celebration of something he should have done long ago), nor the way drool seems to lather down your chin.
it's messy, frantic, and he's half crazed when you pull back for air, hissing in distaste as you swallow lungfuls of oxygen, unable to stop your panting when he pushes forward, forward, forward-
"easy-"
"no." he growls, "been waiting f'this for over a year. 'm not gonna wait any longer."
you gasp loudly when his hands - now warmed by your skin - slide down the sides of your waist, muttering profanities under his breath when he reaches the waistband of your shorts.
you feel his body-weight lift, easing off of you barely when he lowers his head to nose down your neck, occasionally diving down to mouth at your skin - there'll be proof of this union, sukuna swears to himself.
"tell me to stop." he hisses, grunting when your breath hitches at familiar fingers dragging up your inner thighs. "tell me."
"no." you hiss, "you know i can't."
your admittance makes his breath hitch, his pupils swallowing all the more colour in his eyes, head lifting from your neck only to duck lower and press his forehead into your stomach, unceremoniously lifting your hips with one hand gripping your ass so he can yank down your shorts.
you bite back a whine as heavy breathing fans out over your cunt, contrasted by the cool air, head tilting back into the pillow when he grips your legs and throws them over his shoulders.
heels dig into the small of his back, but for the life of him, sukuna can't bring himself to care.
because finally, you're letting him do this - finally, you're giving him a chance to never run from him again, to prove his worth to you. he'd take being used for his tongue and nothing more if it meant he'd get to linger at the edges of your life forever.
his mouth waters at the sight between your legs - panties damp and clinging to sacred skin - and he revels in the loud mewl you let out when he gives up all reason and simply pushes his face deep into your clothed pussy, burrowing his nose in deep to take one long, glorious inhale, followed by a guttural, lecherous groan.
"o-oh fuck-!" you choke out, squirming as the bridge of his nose bumps your clit in just the right way, mouth falling open to take in a shuddering breath.
sukuna doesn't hear you - can't hear you with your thighs closed in around his ears - and even of he did, it wouldn't make any difference.
his tongue, wet and heavy, laves over your panties, and your hips buck against his face, rubbing sinfully against that beautiful curve of his nose yet again. the taste of you makes him moan, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as he chases stimulation by humping the mattress below him.
"so…so fuckin' wet." he mutters, fingers pulling aside the fabric of your panties, his other hand pressing into your hipbone, keeping you tethered, stable. "'s this all f'me, babe?" he swipes his thumb through your folds, marvelling as it leaves you soaked, and you glance down to see that his eyes are fixated on your face.
a beat passes, your eyelashes flutter, and you tilt your head at just the right angle to strike him heavily, pretty eyes half-closed and longing. "sukuna, please."
his cheek presses into the inside of your thigh as his breathing shallows, groaning softly into delicate skin at your subtle beg. teeth catch on your skin, and chuckling bubbles out from between your legs when you jolt, "yeah…" he mutters, "yeah, i got you, babe."
sukuna shifts, still keeping your hips pressed down with one hand as he uses the other to pull your panties aside, unable to hear anything except the wonderful rush of blood flowing straight from his head to his cock, "gotta give- oh, look at you- gotta give m'girl what she wants, yeah?"
you buck as he slaps four of his fingers over your sopping-wet cunt, collecting your drooling sap with two digits just to push it back into your pulsating hole, endless moans wheedling out from the back of your throat, wild and uncontrolled.
"y'feel that stretch, pretty girl? feel how wet y'are?" he pumps his fingers in slow, too slow, sinking into you until he's down to his knuckles, "feel how good i treat you?"
furious panting fills the air as you squirm, annoyed little whines pushing past your glossy lips as you fight for some semblance of control, hands fisting into the corners of your pillow for stability. "su- sukuna…mn!"
he can't believe that this is happening to him - still in awe even as he lowers his face to press it into your pussy once more, muffling his whines against your clit while he ruts into the mattress below him.
you taste like heaven - you taste like everything he's ever wanted and everything he'll ever need. you taste like all he's been pushing down and praying for.
"ohgodrightthere-" you sigh, eyes fluttering shut as his soft lips part to smack a wet kiss against your clit, before they purse around it and suck.
you swear you see stars on the back of your eyelids, wanton moans ripping from between your clenched teeth as your hips fight to buck off of the mattress, restrained by his large hand splayed over your abdomen, pressing.
"m'gonna cum- ah!" you squeak as his fingers curl inside of you, pumping in time with the firm thrashes of his tongue against your puffy slit, forcing your eyes open to meet his, breath faltering at the sight of him between your legs, mouth latched onto you, moans reverberating over your swollen clit, eyes half-lidded and wanting.
sukuna groans as he feels one of your hands in his hair, gliding through salmon-pink tresses to gently grip the back of his head and push his face further into your weeping pussy, happy to oblige. he feels your peak getting closer, feels the way you writhe a little more desperately at the addition of a third finger, and can't help the way he nuzzles closer, until there's no air to sustain him.
he'll happily die between your legs, he thinks, with nothing but the taste of you on his tongue to get him through hell or wherever some celestial being sends him.
you cum quick, the knot in your lower stomach unravelling at the insistent rhythm of his mouth against you, combined with the unremitting pump of every thick, calloused digit working you open, jaw dropping open to let out a wordless, stuttering moan as wave after wave of pleasure wracks through you.
sukuna helps you through it, slowing when you need it. there's an undeniable heat to his gaze when he reluctantly pulls his mouth free of your cunt with a filthy pop!, fingers carefully sliding out of you, hot breath fanning out over your syrupy pussy while it clenches around nothing.
the atmosphere is quiet for a minute - save for your pitiful whine at the loss of his mouth and fingers, still near-exploding with sexual energy, but he's cautious, thrumming with so much unrestricted desire that he's scared of himself - of what he'll do. quaking hands are deft in removing his shirt, and you swallow when you slide off your own top and reach for him.
he bites his lip when he feels your fingers trace up and down his tattoos, fumbling with his sweats with barely controlled desperation, letting out a grunt of relief when he manages to kick them off and have his boxers follow in their example.
then, there's the frantic jostle of limbs, the smooth noises of skin rubbing against skin, his sweat mingling with yours, heavy, awkward breaths mixing out in the limited space between your faces.
his cock settles, heavy and leaking between your thighs, and sukuna mumbles incoherent profanities into your cheek as your hips jolt, his tip catching on your already sensitive clit.
nails dig into his shoulders, and neither of you say a word for a good, long while. it's not that he doesn't want to be inside you - fuck, sukuna wants it so bad - but he's waiting for your command; what a fool he'd been, to think he was anything else except under your spell.
imperceptibly, he lifts his head, pink lashes fluttering to shade the unmistakeable, puppy-like look in his eyes, eager to soak you in. predictably, he's not disappointed by the sight of you - sukuna would even go far enough to say that he's awestruck.
time and time again, sukuna thinks that you couldn't get prettier. time and time again, you prove him wrong.
because he's never seen the way your cheeks flush like they're doing now, so fresh and rosy from your previous orgasm. he's never seen the way your eyes widen at the sight of his cock (curved upward, gorgeously thick, the tip flared and dusted a furious shade of pink, dribbling pre down his veiny shaft), lip caught between your teeth in unsure hesitation.
a distant part of him is stunned at the rapid flow of things. he thought he'd be louder, more in control, meaner, like how he is with every other girl that let's him fuck.
so many nights had been spent fantasising about putting you in your place, proving to you that there was no one else but him, shutting you up with kisses hot enough to melt iron, paired against moans loud enough to filter into the room at the end of the hall.
but, it was all done quiet. devestatingly quiet. like he still owed you something he'll never be able to repay.
"you can take it, pretty." he whispers, woozy from the scent of your perfume lingering just where he needs it - which is everywhere, of course. "i'll go slow."
"ryo." you mumble, hand moving from his shoulder to cup the side of his face, guiding him so close that his mouth brushes against your own with every miniscule movement.
it takes some time for him to blink the foggy lust out from behind his eyes, but there's no rush. the world is yours for as long as he wills it - sukuna would be the strongest there ever lived if it meant having you like this forever.
"ryo, promise me." you breathe, steadying your shaking arms by wrapping them around his neck - tight, to keep him close. he feels your legs part further, hips shifting higher to feel more of him. "promise me that this'll matter in the morning."
he scoffs. loud, astonished that you'd think this wasn't it for him - that his entire life hadn't been put on standstill until you (youyouyouyouyou-) clawed your way into his stupid, tough, aching heart.
"this'll matter forever, babe. i promise." he mutters, expression so determined that his brows furrow, and you don't deny yourself the right to smooth out the crinkle between them - not anymore. sukuna presses his forehead against yours when you're done. "there ain't no-one better than you."
(and suddenly, you remember a car filled with weed-smoke and the underlying, acrid smell of a woman's perfume that wasn't yours. you remember his laughter, and his quiet confessions. you remember a kiss outside your dorm room.)
now, he kisses you slow, searching and powerful, tongue swirling over your own to swallow every hitch in your breathing as he lines his cock at your opening, choking on air at how wet you are.
when he pushes into you, it's like like everything just…clicks.
with every inch that fills you, every stuttered whine or embarrassing whimper, every clumsy fumble of his large, thick hands gripping the skin of your back, pulling so close that he won't be able to do anything else but kiss the bruises better later, you remember.
you remember the pain of denying yourself. you remember the pain of denying him.
your walls are so warm around him, and it's hard for you to concentrate because he's just so big, the stretch so deep that it resonates higher than where your soul can reach. you don't glance down - you can't - because he's looking at you, and you're looking at him, and for the first time you can finally see what he's been trying to tell you from the very beginning:
that he can't live without you. that he'll tell you he'll love you always, knowing that 'love' isn't a big enough word to mean what he wants it to.
"so good-" something wet lands on your cheek as he hovers his face above yours, another drop follows quickly afterwards. "so fuckin' good. oh honey, i'm so fuckin' sorry for everythin'- hngh!"
an unhinged, weak giggle ripples out of you as you wipe the tears that have yet to fall, catching them on your thumb from where they sit on his eyelashes. more follow in their stead, but you keep wiping them, and he keeps sinking into you.
there's a mad fumble for your free hand when his mushroom tip finally kisses your cervix, nestled so firmly inside of you that every gentle squirm has you hissing, thighs trembling and coated with glistening slick. clumsily he pulls it up to rest over his chest.
and you feel it - the erratic drumming of his heart beneath your fingers, beneath his sweat-slicked skin. more tears drop - his chest shakes, black lines rippling over tan skin with each violent tremble.
"do y'feel me?" he implores, eyes wide and crazed, cock dense and unmoving inside of you, always waiting for you, for your command, "do you feel me?"
"i feel you, ryo. i feel you."
that's all he needs.
his hips drag back carefully, so slow that it's enough for you to feel every vein, and the further stretch of his flared tip.
but just before he pulls out completely, he's sinking into you again, and pulling back, and sinking in, and pulling back and sinking in - until there's that familiar heat in your stomach and the softest noise of his grunting, punctuating every piercing thrust.
there's nothing carnal about the way he looks at you. there's nothing feral about the way tears splash onto your cheeks, spilling over vermillion irises and making your heart burst with love.
his hands are gentle despite the callouses. callouses you know better than even he does, now that he's dragging his palms up your arching spine and across your trembling shoulders, steadying the back of your neck as you mewl and writhe from the pleasure only he would ever be able to give you.
how could either of you think that there'd be anyone else? how could either of you have gone without the other for so long?
sukuna swears into your mouth, unable to stop this relief that overcomes him, filling him from the soles of his feet upwards. he knows you're close - eyes barely opened but watching every minute expression, pinned down to the smallest wrinkle of your nose, to the lightest flutter of those beautiful lashes.
nonsense is muttered against your lips - vulnerable murmurs of fear, worry that he'd lost you and that he wouldn't ever be able to get you back, murmurs of i'm so sorry and i love you so fuckin' much. he keeps speaking and speaking until he's spilled his heart out into your chest-
-and you keep murmuring back, replying with words of forgiveness, i'm sorry's of your own, whispered in the comfort of the heat between your lips. your hands slide up his arm, up the corded muscle of his biceps and shoulders, until your fingers barely reach those salmon-pink locks and he moans so loudly that you have to kiss him into loving quietly again.
his pace quickens, gets firmer, more sure, the air littered with dull interruptions of your headboard thudding against the wall and the sharp plap! of slickened skin against slickened skin.
one of his hands travel between the minimal space between your moving bodies, thumb slipping down your navel, finding the swollen, sensitive nub that is your clit and circling - fast enough to match his ever-growing thrusts, knocking the thoughts and air from your head and lungs - there's no preventing the guttural keening noise that rips out of you.
"sukuna-a~ mmf!"
"nuh-uh, baby," he smirks, "nuh-uh. 's- that's it, yeah, hngh! fuck back up into me- 's ryo, honey. always ryo- ooohh right there, fuck! y'like that? i got you, i got- a-ah~ i got ya, m'girl. ryo's got ya."
it's almost remarkable how - for someone usually so composed, so sensible - you can't think with his cock bullying deep into you, pausing briefly to adjust the angle, hoisting your hips up higher, somehow splitting you in half with a cock that reaches impossibly further, breaking you down with his soft words and the insistent snap of his hips.
you hear a pleased chuckle above you, followed by the gentlest slap against your cheek, blinking you back into existence. "eyes on me, baby. can't let- ha-ah~ can't let m'girl lose focus, can I?"
the low, rumbling drawl of his voice has you clenching down around him, whining pathetically around the skin of his neck where your mouth had latched onto. he moans in unison with you - pushing the vibrations of each pleasured sound into the small cavern of your ear.
it's all too much, too good - yet at the same time, it'll never be adequate - not when his fleshly body cages his soul from your own.
"i love you." it's spoken like a secret - barely alive for long enough to be passed from your tongue to his, and you're not surprised; those were three words you'd never imagined saying, much less meaning. "holy sh-shit, ryo, i- ngh~ i love- i love-"
you don't finish your sentence - can't finish your sentence, not with his thumb still rubbing persistent little circles over your throbbing clit, and not with his cock pound, pound, pounding into you.
instead, you choke on your hiccuped sobs as unrelenting quakes of your orgasm wrack through you, spine keeeening off of your mattress, pushing your body up against his sweaty, sculpted chest, pussy fluttering around his shaft in strong pulses.
the snarl that pulls free from sukuna's mouth is beastly - he's a weak man, after all, and he's weaker when it comes to you, practically defenseless when your gorgeous cunt is milking him dry.
you cum so pretty, there's nothing else he'd rather do, nowhere else he'd rather be - just the sight of you, all his, erases the thought of anyone else.
there'll only ever be you. he should have come to terms with that from the very start.
("there ain't no-one better than you, babe.")
"ah, fuck-!" he grits out, and there's nothing else he can do except rut into you like a man who'd die without release, sloshing pre into your gooey pussy until you're whispering his name like a holy mantra from the overstimulation.
it isn't until he sees it - those exquisite, glimmering tears collecting on your waterline - that gives him the final push. white, hot, dense ropes of cum paint the inside of your pussy a creamy-white, and he drives his fat tip firm against your g-spot, ensuring that all of him fits inside of you without question.
"o-oh fuckfuckfuck-" he nuzzles his face into the wrist of your hand still gripping his hair, shuddering violently over you, eyes hazy and full, pink lips parted, completely delirious as he spills into you, "marry me, yeah? promise me- hngh! fuckin' promise me ya will, baby-y, please…"
unsurprisingly, sukuna's heavy when he collapses over you, still supporting some of his own weight by keeping himself propped up on a singular elbow digging into your mattress.
heavy panting fills the air as you both fight to catch your breath, observing one another.
he shivers when your fingers slide through his hair, brushing it back, twirling satin-soft, pink locks around slender digits before letting them fall free again.
it feels like hours - it feels like minutes - before sukuna shifts to look at you properly, softening inside of you but still so large, humming in apologetic acknowledgement when you squeak from oversensitivity. neither of you have any immediate urge to get out of bed, or undo the messy entanglement of limbs.
the silence is patient at first. then hesitant.
"will you forgive me?" it's more a croak than it is an actual voice when sukuna speaks, throat sore from overuse. "for everythin'?"
"no." you whisper, and he huffs, only partially amused.
"thought so."
"mhm."
there's another small pause.
"did you mean it?" he swallows, his chest still laying over yours, the vibrations of his heart running faster than you thought possible, competing with your own. "when y'said…when y'said you loved me?"
you nod. another beat. then, "did you?"
"always." he answers vehemently, like believing he meant anything else offended him. "if there's anythin' i'm not lyin' about, babe, it's lovin' you."
more nodding, more silence. you wipe the teary residue from under his eyes.
"you cried, ryo."
"i know."
"you never cry."
"cried when y'left." he presses a kiss to your temple.
"you deserved it."
"i know." another kiss is placed on your brow, then one more on your cheek. "don't leave again." he rumbles.
he's so predictable with his movements that you end up tilting your head to meet his lips as they caress your own, tasting faintly of yourself and the softest undertones of promise and regret. "you wasted so much time being proud." you mutter.
"so did you." he snorts, kiss-bruised lips pulling back to reveal smiling teeth, "my stubborn," his mouth touches yours again, meek, "stubborn girl. i'll make it up to you."
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
it's well into the night when sukuna's snoring lulls you out of your restful sleep. you're still naked, back still pressed against his bare chest, his heavy arm slung over your waist, hand splayed over your lower stomach, not constraining, but ready to pull you back should you decide to move from his embrace.
carefully, you turn.
and everything that you've pushed down bubbles up into something akin to prayer.
there's no moonlight to illuminate the features you know so well - but you don't need it. using your hand, you trace his features from memory, fingers drifting over the delicate jut of his brow, grazing messy eyebrows beneath the pad of each digit.
you can see the colour to them in your head, the softest, gentlest shades of pink colouring each individual follical. following the line of them, straight between, is that wrinkle that you adore so much. your fingers press lightly over where it often appears, glad to find the skin is smooth, unpeturbed by the worries of the waking world.
they drift down the bump in his nose, lining the strip of black ink across the bridge, before settling finally on pillowy, loving lips. they part when you nudge them, and you recall how dizzying it felt to have his mouth on yours. with your other hand, you touch your own lips - bitten raw with longing teeth, but soothed with an apologetic tongue.
a lock of hair falls over his forehead - you're quick to push it back. he senses the movement, mutters something incoherent as he follows the touch of your hand unconsciously, keeping it carefully tangled in his hair, palm cupping the crown of his head, massaging fingers soothing him into a deeper sleep.
sukuna huffs faintly through his nose, before resuming his snoring, and you can feel your eyes twinkle with warmth. right within arm's reach lies the man who'd walk a million miles on his knees repenting. right under your fingertips is a man who'd curse you forever with his memory, with his love.
there's no use in pushing it down anymore.
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⋆. 𐙚 ˚ (a/n): i hope you liked the grand finale of my series! this note is my official invite to send me your thoughts - discussions are always welcome, and my asks are open also!!
do forgive me if it feels rushed in any way - i tried to tie up all the loose ends as best as i could, plus get the pacing right - this is my first time writing/editing smut, so please be kind and lend me your thoughts there too!
once again, i'm so sorry it took so long, i'll try to post more frequently in the future! i love you all, lmk what you want to see next!
permanent taglist is open! just send me a request and i'll happily add you!
not him deflecting until the end 💀 boy bye, by the time he figures shit out, nanami is already gonna have given her 3 kids and a summer house (yes i did continue the story in my head 🤣)
i can't even lie i read this ask like five seconds after i woke up and was then IMMEDIATELY hit with a bestfriend!nanami x reader idea before going right back to bed thinking about the plot ehhehehehehe
would you guys be interested in that? and also if so what would you like to see?
ALL THANKS GO TO ANON FOR GIVING ME THE MOTIVATION TO WRITE ABOUT NANAMIN AT SOME POINT I LOVE U ANON
I know everyone wants pt 4 just to see them tgth bur ....i eel like pt 3 is such a good place to end. Reader had such a finality in her words and actions. Im actually disgusted by how shameless sukuna was and the gaslighting? Bruh. But i like that reader used this to learn more about herself and that she actually faced her feelings separate from her dependence. When she said she wouldn't be a scapegoat for his pride BROOOOOO tears in my eyes. I think theyre both going to grow. Ngl i think sukuna doesnt have it in him to change just from a psychological bg bc he will continue to repeat the bad habits for that dopamine hit and then crash hard after, without the promise of any reward. Reader is no longer in the picture and he isnt the type to bet on potentials. He is more comfortable in pain than being happy which is why he got scared and dipped. Reader? She sees, she analyzes, and yes sometimes she looks before she leaps but shes human. And too damn smart for her own good. I cant see her looking back sukunas way even if he changes bc her self preservation tactics are TOO high. She didn't even rebound w gojo bc she worked out that he wasn't truly what she wanted. Bro..... bro...... im rlly ngl...... reader reminds me of one of those women who never truly feel romantic love because THEY are they loves of their own lives, and they themselves are bigger than romance omg im gnna cry THATS MY BABYYYYYYY she deserves so much better 💗 like sukuna can get change, but his redemption is untethered to her. She is not the prize at the end of his journey. She was the catalyst, but not the tropy. Just. Like. She. Said. Hjsjkskskkskskskks
omg i love you sm you have my entire heart for this
for i think that you're right in saying that pt 3 is a good place to end in the idea that sukuna has got exactly what he's deserved in not getting the girl - inherently the point of his character is to be a VILLAIN, hence the gaslighting and the throwing tantrums when reader doesn't immediately fold.
which is why to get the reader he has to change for HIMSELF as opposed to doing it for anyone else - so that if things don't work out, no resentment can build between him and the person he changes for.
as for the reader - she also needs to change (because we love a baddie who can identify what she can improve and actually put in some effort to achieve better versions of herself hehehe) so that instead of pushing away affection, she can receive it without feeling like it'll come to an end
UGH AFTER WRITING OVER 19K WORDS ABOUT READER I AM SOOO FOND OF MY POOKIE
AND I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUHC TY ANONYMOUS FOR SENDING THIS TO ME I SUPER DUPER APPRECIATE IT MWAH MWAH MWAH
synopsis: ༄ sukuna's been avoiding you. cowardice mingles with his pride, pride mingles with your hurt. now, all of a sudden, you're caught between a rock and a hard place - an unstoppable force and an immovable object.
what happens when that unstoppable force within you stops pushing?
〃✦ ┆word count: 10.3k
Pushing it Down and Praying (Pt. 3)
(Lizzy McAlpine)
▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•
➢(part one: softer.), (part two: harder.), (part 4: you know just how to get to me.)
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ (a/n): hi!!! finally part 3 is out omg!! this has been marinating in my drafts for ages because it was just so hard to figure out the plot!
as promised, though, sukuna suffers DRAMATICALLY in this chapter - i got soooo much support from part two and i absolutely adored the analysis people kept sending me!! any more would be so welcome!!!
i hope you all enjoy! don't forget to follow my ao3 (@nanahidesingroves)! and lemme know if you wanna be on my taglist hehehe
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it's been two weeks since sukuna had last spoken to you.
fourteen days since you'd pecked him softly on the lips and wished him goodnight, before closing your door and heading to bed, the weed still humming in your bloodstream.
three hundred and thirty-six hours since he'd confessed that sleep is rare without you to curl up against.
twenty-thousand, one hundred and sixty minutes since he'd reached the closest he'd ever been to telling someone he loved them.
and now all there was between you both, all that he could bear to have between you, was distance. his own compunction towards the entire ordeal wasn't directed at you - he couldn't blame anyone but himself for any of this. after all, he'd wanted to kiss you-
-but he'd wanted to do it sober. in front of somewhere nice. romantic. sukuna makes a face to himself, one of disgust.
romance; the word tasted just as foul as everything else when it came to thinking about you - all these soft, gushy feelings given form in sentences made from soft, gushy words - no better than word vomit waiting to be expulsed from his tongue.
but that was just the problem. all the words that were ready to be said, that he should have already spoken aloud, were swallowed back, weighing him down in the pit of his stomach until all he could think about was you.
maybe he didn't want to kiss you (or have you kiss him, rather). beneath all that yearning, he identifies the comfort in playing this dance with you forever, waiting at the edges of your life like a parasite that feeds off of your warmth.
music blares in his ears, hard rock drowning out the turmoil inside his mind while he lifts weights that would have been enough to crush a small child with ease, jaw clenched from the effort as beads of sweat run down his face and neck, glaring at the wall like it personally owes him repentance. he'll look for it in everywhere except the one place where he'll get it.
thoughts of you manage to wheedle through the loud thrum of music blasting in his ears, and he grips the bar a little tighter, fighting against the memory of how he left your building in shambles -
(he'd been walking for what seemed like years. part of him was convinced that it had been. years of just aimlessly trudging along the dimly lit paths, going nowhere. the girl he was planning on fucking after kissing you - he still can't believe that happened - was probably three streets behind him by now.
sukuna's lips still tingle with the gentle heat of your mouth on his. for a kiss that lasted no more than five seconds at most, it had a way of lingering, the ghost of your breath still fanning out over his cheek - should he have closed his eyes, he'd have felt the brush of your nose against his, so vivid it would have been like you were there.
the weed had worn off after a while, and now he was stone-cold sober as he wandered the city. sukuna knows he makes an intimidating figure on a good day, but at that moment - with that scowl on his face, lip upturned just faintly as though every breath away from you was like breathing in acid - he looked bullying.
you'd asked him to stay the night, had given him an easy ticket into restful sleep, and he'd been stupid enough to deny it. frustration boils beneath his skin, simmering like a bomb ready to blow - he should have said yes.
he'd have had his head on your chest by now, sukuna thinks, knocked out and snoring softly while the scent of vanilla washes over his skin, surrounding him betwixt the sheets and you.
he's far from not wanting it - sukuna's not enough of an idiot to contradict anything so integral to who he is. he wants you, under him, on top of him, around him - but he needs you to want something more. this self-loathing he dresses up as pride won't allow him to step away from you..
the sky starts to lighten by the time he finishes walking. the tingling still lingers on his lips.)
- a hiss pushes past his teeth, eyes narrowing as he shakes off the memory like water rolls off of a duck's back. he just has to keep lifting, one powerful push after the other, again and again and again, until the burn of his muscles are enough to distract him from what he can't get over.
"-una. sukuna. sukuna."
the muffled voice jolts him out of his vehement trance, and with the loud clang of metal being settled back into it's rightful resting place, sukuna sits up with a grunt, shoving his headphones from his ears, glaring up at the towering figure stood before him with it's arms crossed.
"you deaf?" toji shoots him a sidelong grin, and sukuna scoffs, lips twitching upwards in the smallest of smiles.
"quit talkin' shit, fushiguro." he stands, rolling the vast breadth of his shoulders before dapping up toji like he hadn't just been five seconds away from running himself into the ground. sukuna pushes down the heaviness in his gut, focusing on the burn in his arms instead.
toji smirks, slapping him on the back as chuckles fall from his lips. sukuna didn't have many friends - calloused and rude as he was - but toji was the closest thing to it. aside from the obvious 'bond' he had with you, that is.
it wasn't much of anything currently, not when your messages and calls have been steeping in imposed silence for the past two weeks, piling up in his inbox like temptation made digital, until about a week ago, when his phone turned silent and barren.
you were never the sort to look for attention when it wasn't given freely.
"how long have y'been here?" toji's question snaps him out of his thoughts, and sukuna glances up at the other man, blinking him into focus. it's obvious from the mildly suspicious expression on toji's face that he's not acting normal enough.
"three hours." sukuna grunts, nodding to where he'd been doing his sets previously, wiping the sweat from his face and collar using the towel slung over his shoulder.
toji whistles in appreciation, raising an eyebrow at his counterpart. "that's a long time, sukuna."
"yeah, well," he shrugs, "nothin' much to do."
"oh, there's plenty to do." toji snickers, "like three bitches pulled up to the frat in this week alone, jus' to ask about ya." his voice rises an octave, mimicking the high-pitched drawl of the girls coming by, "'have you seen my sukuna? is he free this weekend? can you tell him i stopped by?' makes me sick, man."
he snorts, attempting to jab his elbow into toji's ribs to stop him from rambling on further, already tired of the small talk. toji dodges his attempt effortlessly, grinning from ear to ear.
"come on." he leans closer, "why aren't ya indulging, ryomen? don't tell me you're goin' celibate. or losin' your touch?" toji pauses for dramatic effect, and sukuna prays to whatever god out there that he gets struck by lightning before he finishes what he has to say. his prayers go unanswered. "or maybe you've found someone?"
a dangerous stillness seems to descend over the gym, recognised only by himself and toji, stood in front of him, smug, like he'd solved some great mystery.
"nah." his gaze hardens. "nothin' like that."
"not even with that chick? y'know, the one you keep runnin' to every time shit happens?"
immediately, he's tense, mind flashing with pictures of you - smiling, dabbing at the cut on his temple while your other hand holds his face still, pinching his cheek like he was made of glass, kissing him-
- sukuna winces, turning his head to the side. "not even with her." he confirms, forcing his features into a casual, schooled expression, fingers twitching as he struggles not to clench his hands into fists.
toji falters, raking his gaze down to the slight tremor in sukuna's hands as he references you, surprised to find that the mention of someone he'd once thought fundamental in sukuna's life could bring out such a pained reaction from the man himself.
"hey." he steps forward, nudging his shoulder against the pink-haired giant with his brows furrowed. "the hell's goin' on between you and her? y'feelin' alright?"
sukuna grunts, shifting awkwardly on his feet as he stuffs his hands into his pockets like a sulking child, working his bottom jaw while he stares at the floor, shrugging - there's no point in telling toji a single thing, not when he knows exactly what's going on between you and him.
he could lie - spread rumours that you had been the one to drive him away, just so that he could save face and pretend that he doesn't want you - but sukuna couldn't do that to you. not now, not ever. even without your presence, you still had him wrapped around your finger.
toji takes the silence as an answer, huffing out a bemused scoff. "trouble in paradise, huh?"
sukuna risks a glance at him, and catches a glimpse of himself before he'd met you: proud, too cocky to take the safest option, too scared to settle. now, he was more akin to a stray you'd fed by the roadside and let follow you home.
he knows exactly what's going on between you both. but it's only a question if somebody brings it up.
sympathy mingles with toji's sharp features, noting that sukuna's body language doesn't hint at anything going particularly well, and he stirs to make some attempt at alleviating the obvious weight bearing down on his friend's mind.
the only problem was that toji fushiguro was single-handedly the worst person to have comfort anyone - let alone sukuna ryomen, who dealt with anger via fistfighting and fucked out his frustration on the nearest willing sorority girl.
toji's lips pull open to reveal a toothy grin, slapping his hand on sukuna's back with enough force to knock out a weaker man, rolling out a laugh as he spoke, "i did tell ya to never fall for good pussy, man. 's how they reel you in-"
"-we never fucked."
sukuna interrupts, slapping off toji's hand with an undertone of malice as he reaches down to snatch up his gym bag, slinging it over his shoulder and storming off without another word.
there's no emphasis to the statement - he says it with a resignation found only in criminals before a public hanging - and there doesn't need to be. the words themselves do the trick. it's a universal language between men like sukuna and toji, where matters deeper than the flesh mean trouble.
toji gawps after him in shock, hand hovering in the air where it had been smacked off. it takes a couple of seconds for his mind to catch up, because suddenly he's rushing after sukuna's retreating figure in quick strides, catching up with him just as he's about to slide into the driver's seat of his car.
"hey! look, didn't mean to touch a nerve-"
"it's fine."
black lines twitch where a muscle in his jaw feathers with irritation. sukuna doesn't want to hear you talked about so disrespectfully again, but he can't voice those wants without indirectly laying his emotions bare.
toji grunts, nodding as the awkward silence takes over, filled with an urge to undo whatever wrongs he'd done, and yet, remaining at a loss as to how he can make things better.
"listen," he holds his hands up as sukuna meets his look with a cold one of his own, expression as serious as he could make it, "i don't know what the fuck is goin' on between you and her - all i know is that you're pissed off."
"i am not pissed o-"
"you are." toji insists, folding his arms over his chest, "which means you need to let loose, right? need to get your mind off of the shit she's puttin' you through."
"she's not puttin' me through anythin'." sukuna growls, "you better start watchin' what you say about her, fushiguro."
"fuck you, asshole, this is exactly what i mean." toji lets out an exasperated puff, motioning to sukuna's tense form with one hand, before pointing at himself. "you gotta listen to the guy who knows about bein' pussy-whipped. it's a tough hole to get out of, man. you gotta power through."
"yeah?" sukuna snarls, slamming his car door shut and leaning back against it, "and how the hell are y'gonna help me do that when 'm not even pussy-whipped? like i said, asshole - we never fucked."
toji snorts, rolling his eyes, "doesn't matter. you've got the same mentality, which means there's only one way to get you outta it."
sukuna pauses, eyes narrowing, but mildly hooked on whatever bullshit his friend is yet to spout. the black haired man before him smirks, beaming deviously.
"we gotta get you to a party, man."
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
"so you've just stopped speaking to him…completely?"
shoko tilts her head to one side, unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth while she looks at you, and you exhale, amused. mercifully, you take out the lighter in your pocket, lighting the end of your own stick before throwing it over to her.
"mm, no. he stopped talking to me. i just stopped asking after him." you shrug, letting smoke pool in your lungs just long enough for it to tingle, blowing it out with a languid ease that matches the quiet energy between you both. "if he doesn't want to talk to me, i won't bother him."
the flame from your lighter briefly illuminates shoko's face, before it's gone and you're swallowed by the tender darkness again. "you're better than me." she says, "i hate losing friends."
"oh?" you mutter, "and i don't? i'm fucking devestated." the words are hard to say, bittersweet, and you take the cigarette out of your mouth to rest between your middle and ring finger, leaning against the bannister of shoko's balcony, with your elbows propped up against the edge. "it can't be helped, though. if he's avoiding me, he's avoiding me."
it takes a few minutes for your words to settle, rippling through the noiseless atmosphere between you and shoko, and dying quietly in the air between your lips and the butt of your cigarette.
for the past week, you've forced yourself to stop sending sukuna texts, to stop trying to call him every time you get an urge. it had been difficult, considering he was such an inherent factor in your day-to-day life - needed a rant? call sukuna. want something? send the link to sukuna. hungry? get sukuna to pay for a takeaway. bored? ask sukuna to come over.
but it didn't take a genius to understand that he was avoiding you, and you missed him - his voiceless presence hurt you more than you cared to announce.
shoko stares at you, watchful. "do you think it's 'cause of that kiss?" she asks.
"it was barely a kiss." you sulk, runnning a hand down your face in a brief attempt to physically wipe the memory from your head. as expected, it doesn't work, and you're left with confused regret, damp with the tears of longing.
"you're tellin' me he's acting like this over a peck?"
you nod, overcome with the urge to either break down or laugh - the situations you keep finding yourself in are just so…peculiar.
a snort escapes shoko, and she waves a dismissive hand, as if ushering away the unpleasant feeling creeping up inside of your gut. it works - you've always enjoyed being around women who know when to let go of a problem, and look good doing it. you're glad shoko is one of those people.
"it's pathetic. you're better off without that dick, anyway." she grins crookedly, "i mean, come on, right? how sensitive do y'have to be to get hung up over a little smooch?" you roll your eyes, chuckling, and shoko blows out another cloud of smoke. "i'm gonna confess somethin'."
you smirk, "you're not in love with me, are you, ieri?"
she holds up a hand, a breathless scoff falling from her lips, "guilty as charged."
you're chortles are interrupted with a yelp when she smacks your arm, and you rub where she'd hit you, feigning a pout. "ow. okay, tell me."
"no, i'm gonna ask you a question first." shoko straightens, and you lie in wait for what she has to say, mildly intimidated by her unbelievable ability to go from joking to deadly seriousness in a few seconds flat. "the kiss - did you mean it in that way? you know, like…not platonically?"
that gets you thinking, and you're already placing the cigarette back in your mouth to taste the smoke again, giving you something to focus on while you file away each thought you have in a logical order.
shoko lets you ponder. it's a nice night for a smoke outside, clear and not too cold - you're glad she'd invited you over after hearing the whispers about you spread like wildfire through campus. most were just fickle observations - there was less talk about sukuna taking another girl to bed, and more talk about the absence of him at your side.
you take your time, never the sort to rush coming to a conclusion. after all, you weren't dumb enough to think that this question wouldn't be asked at some point. even before he started ignoring you, the rumours circulating the masses never went unnoticed.
but that never clouded your senses, not really. the only things that forced you to make lapses in judgement were either alcohol, or weed, and you'd been under the influence of the latter when you'd sent sukuna off with a kiss.
"it's…tricky." shoko nods at you to continue, and you relent, coughing once to clear the smoke from your lungs, "we'd smoked a blunt before he'd walked me up to my door. i'm not trying to make excuses or anything, but i think it's common knowledge i don't handle that stuff as well as i should."
she opens her mouth to speak, and you hold up a finger to silence her, taking another long drag of your cigarette to give yourself more time to think. "still, he'd been…nice about it." you're interrupted when shoko snorts loudly, and she grins when she catches you raising an eyebrow at her in silent question.
"'s nothin'." she shakes her head, "just…sukuna? nice? while he's high?"
"i know, i know. he's a bastard with a taste for human flesh, believe me, i get it." you laugh, and it rings out through the calm air. "but i was in a good mood, you know? all of it was just falling so perfectly into place, and he looked so…" a frustrated noise escapes you, and you run a hand through your hair, glancing up at her helplessly.
"sad?" shoko finishes for you, stubbing out her cigarette on the balcony ash tray once the heat at the end reaches the filter, threatening to burn her fingertips, "pathetic? dumb?"
"at a loss." you murmur, wringing your hands in front of you. "like he didn't know what to do with himself, with me." you exhale deeply. "i don't know how i meant that kiss, sho. and, christ, now that he's ignoring me, i don't want to know." the cigarette in your mouth shakes as your lower lip trembles with mild resentment. "fuck him."
unsurprisingly, shoko is a little shocked by your answer. she'd been your friend for years, a close confidant when things got tough, and even after all this time, you were still a mystery. charming and witty as you were, you had enough stubborn pride to rival - well - sukuna's.
"right." she reaches over, taking the cigarette out of your mouth to throw it off of the balcony, ignoring your protests and grabbing both of your shoulders firmly, pulling you around so that you're both face to face. "i'm goin' to say something, and it's gonna be a little controversial."
you blink at her for a few seconds, still mourning the loss of your cigarette (for the last time, you aren't addicted-), but you manage to wipe the minute pout off of your lips and steel your gaze with a steady determination. "okay, ieri, hit me with it."
"i want you," you're shaken a little by firm, unrelenting hands for the emphasis - and shoko had paused at the most inconvenient time because now you're really wondering if this was a love confession- "to come to a party."
time freezes, and you're left trying to process how underwhelming the climax of the conversation had been - and maybe even a little disappointed. "so…"
a big, shit-eating grin splits your face in half, "you aren't in love with me?"
you're slapped silly before the cackle explodes out of you.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
the concentrated smell of spilled beer and bad decisions fill your nose the second you step inside the frat house. music pounds through the walls like it aims to melt you into the floorboards, deep bass rolling from the speakers in repeated vibrations until it chimes like a second heartbeat.
shoko laughs as you wrinkle your nose, never being one for parties that were so distinctly masculine - made for men, by men - grabbing your wrist and tugging you into the crowd before you can turn on your heel and leave.
coloured lights flicker, purples and greens and blues and yellows, rolling over heated bodies. at some point you accidentally kick someone's leg, glancing down to see a very public display of intimacy. averting your eyes as quickly as you can, you single out a few familiar faces in the crowd-
suguru's in the far distance, smirking as he leans against a wall, hand on some girl's hip while she stammers and tries not to sway too much from the alcohol. he catches your eye while shoko drags you by, and winks. you giggle, running your tongue over your top teeth, before winking back.
choso's sat somewhere in the corner, on one of the plush sofas that you wouldn't sit on if somebody was threatening you with a gun, rolling a joint with practised fingers while he talks with some other nameless frat bro you don't happen to care for.
and utahime's already tumbling over air as she rushes towards you, your name bursting past her glossy lips when she giggles and falls right into your expectant arms. "you're here! hic! i am sooo glad shoko convinced you to come!"
her hand fumbles over your cheek, poking it firmly as you laugh and grin down at her, hoisting her up to her feet so that you're a little better prepared for when she eventually passes out or throws up, "i know right? real miracle that i even came in the first place."
shoko giggles behind you, and she slaps a hand over your shoulder, helping you balance utahime onto her stilettos by grabbing an elbow and pulling her up. "i'll deal with this one," she nods at you, smirking fondly, and you blow her a kiss in your gratitude. "go get yourself a drink."
predictably, you don't have to be told twice, tugging down the hem of your sinfully short dress (flashing someone for free in this economy would be unwise) as you step over several couples making out on the stairs, and the occasional victim of too much vodka, ensuring that you don't accidentally sprain your ankle from slipping on a crushed beer can.
the kitchen is littered with empty bottles, alongside ones that are half-filled or spilling and knocked over. you try to avoid skin-to-surface contact as best as you can, but it's inevitable when you reach the table, because a loud, joyful voice booms from somewhere in the crowd, and thick arms are gathering you in their hold, tugging you inwards toward a very firm, muscular chest and knocking the backs of your legs against the sticky surface.
"holy fuck, you're actually here!" satoru's on you like an excited puppy, squeezing you so hard you swear a few ribs are broken by the time your arms wrap around his middle. his arms flex around you, one hand sifting through your hair to cradle the back of your head, keeping your nose buried into the fabric of his white t-shirt, nestled into his pec.
for the first time ever, you realise he wears the same cologne as sukuna. tom ford. dark and heady. for a reason unbeknownst to you, your fingers twitch to text him - it's pushed down and ignored before the urge can solidify.
"air." you rasp, and he makes a small grunt of amusement before releasing you.
laughter bubbles out of him as he watches you gulp down oxygen, hand pressed firmly into the small of your back for some line of contact to keep you both connected, holding you firm in his personal space. by the time that you're sure he didn't crack anything, satoru's already pouring you a drink.
"i didn't expect such a warm welcome." you tease, taking the drink (mentally, you note it's ninety percent alcohol, ten percent mixer - the first sip tastes like paint thinner), and he lifts his cap to run a hand through snowy-white locks while he looks at you.
"yeah, well, when i invite you, all i get is radio silence, but when shoko invites you-"
"you don't threaten me cigarette burns. shoko does." you snap, slapping his shoulder delicately as you force another sip of his drink down your throat, fighting not to wince at the taste because you know he'll make fun of you for it.
"maybe i should start." he sticks his tongue out at you, and just like that, all the doubt you'd felt before coming into this party evaporates into thin air. you liked satoru, annoying and entitled though he was (and always will be), at least he was constant. and very easy on the eyes.
conversation flows easily between you. for the most part, you're enamoured with each other, sharing cups and giggling when he fumbles out another horrendous joke, keeping you warm despite that skimpy dress, with his hands on your hips and his face close to yours.
you should be grateful, really, to have someone so ready to hold his arms out and wait patiently for your embrace, whether you entertain those ideas or not, but standing so close to satoru, watching those pale-blue irises turn heavy with longing, it worsens the gnawing at your edges.
you can't tell whether it's guilt or shame that burrows itself into your skin - but it makes your heart weak, makes you wonder if this is all worth it.
satoru leans closer, his words murmured into your ear as loud music muffles what he has to say, his eyes twinkle when you laugh anyway, and when your mouth pulls into a languid smile, something buried rises to the surface.
he stares at your lips just like someone else you know.
the thought makes your expression falter. satoru doesn't notice. sukuna would.
maybe it's the alcohol. you think it might be. they say that drunk words are sober thoughts, but how much of that applies to you? if it had been satoru you had smoked a blunt with, if it had been satoru who'd walked you up to your door in silence, who'd hesitated when he'd denied himself entry into your room, would you have kissed him?
predictably, the answer lies just out of your sight, but it's within reach - your fingers trace over the warmth of it with your hand on satoru's chest, following the shape of each letter with every ba-dum! of his heart, drumming out of time with yours. it speaks in morse code, whispering to you like muted prayer.
'no.'
not if it was satoru.
it's strange how an epiphany can sound like death tolling in your ear - so intolerably loud that it drowns the rest of the party out.
your heart thumps violently in your chest, threatening to spill out from your ribcage and morph into the shape of him. you breathe in deeply, eyes closed. the homely smell of his cologne lulls you deeper into satoru's hold.
(sukuna stirs that next morning, only slightly, mumbling nonsense against your ear as his grip on your waist tightens, dragging you closer.
sunlight slides through the blinds in uniform, thin sheets of yellow, placed over your duvet like a third blanket. some of it catches in the pink of his hair, still caught between your fingers. a little drool dribbles from his mouth onto your shoulder.
you stifle a giggle, picking the sleep out of your eyes with your free hand as he melts back into unmoving slumber.
he'd been like a living furnace the night before, and remained equally as warm until morning, meaning that, for the most part, you'd slept comfortably under his crushing weight without any problem, regardless of the faint snoring right beside your ear.
it surprised you - you don't sleep well around other people.
you glanced down at his face, peaceful, cheek smushed against your shoulder. the hand in his hair combs through it again before you can tell it to stop, gentle brushes of your fingers through pink tresses, pulling back the strands falling over his eyes.
the bright red cut on his temple, still fresh from his fight with satoru the day before, catches your attention. it's clean, the bruise around it matching in colour with the wound on his bottom lip. something tugs at your heart.
it's always a struggle - not acknowledging parts of yourself when you know that you should. it's not healthy. there's pride in knowing what you're feeling, in knowing what brings certain emotions to the surface, and what makes you bury them deep into the sinews of your chest. you don't like this ignorance.
the trouble here is that you can't help but push it down when sukuna appears - he holds a callousness only you can match with a forced numbness. but you aren't fond of the fear you feel when he's around - like you might uncover something you can't take back.
you aren't fond of who you are when sukuna's near you.
he's not entirely to blame. you know enough about what love isn't, to recognise what it might be.
it has to be conditional when it comes to him, though. you can't afford it otherwise.
not when he's all sharp teeth. not when he comes to you lined with spitting resentment and simmering frustration. you see how he is with the girls that come up to him - watching as arrogance crawls out from the depths of his personality with an ease that doesn't come from being a good person, shouldering past their puppy-soft looks, biting back cruel amusement when they plead.
he enters every situation armed with enough entitlement to drown thousands, his ego large enough to fill every room, every crevice, as if the pure size of him wasn't previously sufficient.
it stains his interactions with you, sometimes. you know he cares - his face softens when you appear, terribly obvious in a way he doesn't allow for anyone else. but he'll sulk when you deny him, lips pulled downward, unaccepting of the fact that it's your life, not his, that he gets no say in who you talk to, who you let in.
but there, in that moment, with him sound asleep, his body half-thrown over yours in a comical imitation of a weighted blanket, you feel him.
his heart beats in time with yours.
he makes a home out of your ribcage, clumsy and poorly executed, but he's there and he's real, drooling slightly on the strings of your heart as wet muscle cushions his head while he snores.)
"-you ok? 'm not that boring, am i?"
your eyes flutter open, and satoru's still stood so near, smiling dotingly at you - you swallow the taste of sweetened alcohol and cigarette smoke before smiling back, shaking your head, "no, 'course not. keep going."
"so, the fight with ryomen-" your smile fights to keep from melting off into a wince, satoru puffs up his chest, "-i had him in this nasty headlock, right? kept tryna go for his face but he managed to slip out like the slippery bastard he is-"
"what was the point of it, again?" you interrupt him, wondering how you could have let this conversation get to this point without realising, "the fight, i mean."
satoru huffs, smirking, "glad to know you're listenin'." he watches you roll your eyes, and chuckles, "alright, i'll say this one more time, just because i like you so much."
you lean in when he does, and satoru pauses for effect, just to be annoying, before his lips part.
"the fight was about you, sweetheart."
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
"fuckin' watch it."
there's the faint sound of crashing as someone stumbles past him, and sukuna glares as he watches a guy stumble into the nearest corner and retch, obviously victim to the overzealous drinking that's detectable literally everywhere.
he'd barely stepped out of his car for five seconds before he wants to go back - back to where, exactly, he isn't sure. usually his main form of comfort came in the shape of you.
the thought makes him ill. toji insisted on this party - swore up and down that this would be the one and only cure for the lovesickness, and had given firm instruction on what to do.
("find some girl." toji smirks, "fuck her, get her number, and then leave."
sukuna grips the steering wheel, glaring at the road, moderately disappointed that his car engine did nothing to drown out toji's sure tone. he weighs the pros and cons of swerving into the nearest tree:
cons - there's a big chance he'll kill toji and himself in the process (although arguably that would also do him a world of good, considering he'd fought tooth and nail against going to gojo's party, and toji had still convinced him to get in the car.)
pros - regarding the small chance of survival, he'd get an excuse to see you, albeit strapped to a hospital bed and probably paralysed for life, but it's something. you'd come of your own volition, and he'd miss out on the shame of having to ask for your attention (god forbid).
"then." toji wags his finger at him, "you gotta text her three days later. exactly three days."
he lets toji ramble. at this point, though, there's no use in believing he'll have enough strength to stop thinking about you - ever.)
sukuna stands a little straighter, not bothering to wait for toji as he takes the first step forward, shouldering past drunks tripping by, and stepping over people passed out on the porch, scoffing.
the door opens, the night begins.
house music punches out from the speakers, muffling voices as they surround him. a cup is in his hand before he can blink, and he daps up several hands that belong to faces he can't see in the flashing lights, baring his teeth in a pathetic imitation of a smile.
he catches the eyes of many - a few guys he knows from his lectures, soaking him up in awe, girls in groups, giggling as he walks past. he even smirks at some, downing the first cup like the burn does nothing but breathe life into his lungs.
confidence pulses through his bloodstream along with the alcohol. it reminds him of who he is - who he'll always fucking be. sukuna ryomen doesn't mope. he doesn't yearn. and he doesn't sleep in the beds of girls he hasn't already fucked. most of all, he heart doesn't belong to the likes of you.
the night is going well, unfolding better than he'd thought.
there's no sign of you - the closest reminder is some girl in the far corner, laughing with her friends. you have the same smile. sukuna promises she'll be the one in his bed later.
but he catches himself.
how could he renounce you, and in the same breath, lust over someone who looks so familiar?
he grapples with the thought of it - being inside someone else, kissing another girl when he's already had your lips on his, knowing he won't find anything better.
sukuna pauses, stilling right at the heart of a thick crowd. hands are all over him, some wandering up his shirt, others patting him on the shoulder, all of them ignored in rapid succession until he comes back to reality.
the little, red, plastic cup is crushed in his hand, palm wet with sticky liquid. sukuna doesn't care. he doesn't care about anything. not when every pore is opened on his skin, leaking love and adoration for you.
he has to call you.
the world rushes back to him in an instant, sucker-punching him in the gut, as though it aims to knock some sense into him - it succeeds. the same thought echoes: he has to call you.
all he remembers is frantic movement, throwing the crumpled plastic cup onto the floor, and shoving past each soul-sucking body that wants to drag his attention from what actually matters.
heavy footsteps jolt drunkards out of his way as he clambers up the stairs, pursuing a place of quiet, envisioning satoru's bathroom as his sanctuary, giving him the stillness he needs to just take his phone from his pocket, pull up your contact, and press one button.
sukuna fights a smile as he reaches the second floor, opening out into another common room and kitchen, just as full of bodies dancing to a hard rhythm as downstairs, aware that he's merely a minute or two from pure ecstasy, from the peace he can only find in-
-you.
his stomach drops. actually drops. creating one big black hole that just sucks all good emotion from his chest.
his hand falls from the stair banister to his side as every part of him stiffens - is practically breathing out dust the way his heart hardens into stone.
there's a sharp, pulling pain that follows. his lip quivers.
because you're right there-
-smiling, cup in hand, clothed in that sinful dress, the hem short enough to be riding up your thighs teasingly. you're dressed like every guy's wet dream.
but then a blur of white hair ruins the vision, arm slung lazily around your waist, snatching the drink from your hand to sip from where your lips had just touched.
sukuna ryomen watches as gojo satoru takes everything he's ever wanted in a matter of five seconds.
"like two sides of the same coin." you'd once said. so why not him? why not sukuna? if both satoru and himself were cut from the same cloth, if they were supposed to have the same value, why did you find more worth in that blue-eyed freak?
he's moving forward before he can stop himself.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
"-and 'ella tells me that exactly two weeks ago he fucked her in his car and just…drove off." satoru finishes, nursing your cup as if he feels what you feel, as if he could comprehend the hurt that's striking you hard enough to make your fingers shake. "i mean, shit, 'm bad, but y'gotta be nice to people after you fuck, y'know?"
satoru raises his finger up, matter-of-factly, "it's a matter of principle."
two weeks ago. exactly two weeks ago. for a moment, an evening spent with a joint between your forefinger and thumb flashes through your head. the distinct smell of sacharrine sweet perfume that wasn't yours begins to replace the tom ford lingering on satoru's skin.
like a memory turned odorous.
"that's-"
you don't get finish it - you don't even have time to properly process anything - because a rough hand had wrapped itself around your forearm, and you're yanked backward, dragged away from satoru, who had the same shocked expression as you did, flinching forward on instinct and reaching. his fingers graze yours before he stills, recognition appearing on his features.
the cup in his hand falling to the floor is the last thing you see before the crowd closes in around you.
"what the fuck-?"
you hiss it out, fighting to stay on your feet as you threaten to lose balance on impractical heels, heart dropping.
sukuna's practically kicking down the door to the bathroom, his hand around your arm unmoving as the door gives.
two very shocked people glance up from where they were precariously making out against the sink, eyes wide and fearful as they see a six foot four inch behemoth of a man tower in the doorway, gripping your smaller form at his side. one of them glances at you, gobsmacked, and you shrug with equal helplessness.
"out." he snarls, and you pause awkwardly as you watch two figures bolt out of the room faster than your eyes can follow.
sukuna gives you no chance of escape - you're already yanked into the enclosed space, door slamming shut behind you, music muffled and barely heard against the rough sound of his breathing. the light - white and unrelenting - shows every detail.
his eyebags are the first thing you notice - dark, like he hasn't been sleeping. his chest rises and falls with a telling urgency, tan skin covered in a faint sheen of sweat, pink strands of hair sticking to his forehead as he regards you. his cuts have healed in his absence, but the heaviness in his eyes had only become worse.
neither of you know what to say for the first minute alone together - after a fortnight of being ignored, you stubbornly decide that you won't be the one to speak first. he's stood in the middle of the room, one hand fixed on the edge of the sink, pinning you against the door with his crimson gaze.
another beat passes. as expected, he's the first to break the ice.
"i don't talk t'ya for two fucking weeks, and you replace me with gojo?"
it's vehement - the way he spits satoru's name at you, like tasting it on his tongue is the worst thing to ever grace his tastebuds. for the tiniest moment, you consider blowing up at him. part of you yearns for the satisfaction of seeing his face morph into shock and hurt.
you settle for something that cuts deeper:
silence.
you don't speak, you don't even waste more than a few seconds to just look at him. instead, you shoulder past, walking over to the sink like he wasn't even there, stood behind you, glaring holes deep into the back of your head like he could force you to meet his gaze with willpower alone.
your gaze loiters on your own face, staring into your reflection in a mirror smeared with drunken fingerprints. your hair is a little messed up, maybe even frizzy from the sweaty air in an atmosphere that felt like it was a world away.
for a second, you risk a glance at the door - sukuna follows that look. he wonders if you're thinking about satoru, how it feels so much better to be outside with him, rather than enclosed in this minimal, bereft bathroom with someone who'd shown himself to make a shit friend overall.
mercifully, you speak. "it doesn't count as a replacement." the words are clear, ringing like crystal in the thick air. "not when you left a space made for filling."
"you've got no fucking shame." he snorts, hand reaching out to wrap around your bicep, tugging you around to face him, the gentleness of his grip not going unnoticed by you. if he'd wanted this to be an angry conversation, it would've been.
screaming matches weren't new for either of you - sukuna respected that you could hold your own, though it'd never have to be against him. your space was your space - even now he knew that being at your side was a privilege. you'd have left him to die in the dirt if it didn't suit your mood.
part of the problem, amongst other things, was that you were well aware of how he thought that you thought like that. though as it stood, the idea that you had little tolerance of anything remained one of the biggest misconceptions about you.
once, you'd have hoped that sukuna would never fall victim to it. disappointingly, you were proven wrong.
"look who's talking." you sneer, pushing off his hand but making no move to leave the space between his towering form and the sink, resting your hands on the edge of the bowl. you stare at one another for a few minutes more.
and he can't take it.
because, fuck, how could somebody look so pretty? beautiful, unreachable you, in that little dress, shoulders sagging under the weight of his actions, and of your passiveness. he feels the harshness rippling off of your skin, and sukuna fights the urge to flinch. it isn't like you to be so mean - if anything, that's his job.
and if anything, it's his fault you're like this - two seconds away from baring your teeth and ripping out his throat with whatever snarky comment you plan on using to break him down. the look you give him is reminsicent to a cornered animal. he wonders if satoru ever makes you feel this way.
"you kissed me." he bumbles it out like some sort of idiot, although lately he finds that he's able to categorise himself under such a label more and more. your eyes widen, surprise mingling with…shame? confusion? disappointment? it's hard to tell.
"you stopped talking to me after." you mutter back.
"i was scared."
"not good enough of an excuse, ryomen."
"i missed you." he spills.
"go fuck yourself." you feel bitter, dangerously so - mouth watering to the point where you're sure you're going to throw up from the flavour of it. under other circumstances, those three words would have got sukuna out of a lot of shit. but you'd missed him, too. you just weren't stupid enough to say it out loud.
there's no satisfaction in telling him exactly what he needs to hear. judging from the look on his face - wounded, like you'd actually managed to get to him with just a few murmured expletives - he's surprised by it. you're nothing like the men that challenge him, or the girls that screech and spit in his face when he smirks cockily and tells them to go to hell.
no, your anger is slow. accumulated over time. deserved.
and he hates it. just as much as he hates the fact that he can see you fighting with yourself. and right now, he feels like fighting with you, too.
"i thought you'd reach out."
your head snaps up, silence cracking between the both of you as he fires a warning shot in the emotional battlefield that seems to grow barbed wire along every edge. "don't." you seethe. "don't you dare turn this on me."
sukuna savours the animosity like a second skin. he feels his knuckles twitch, notes the quickening of his heartbeat, like this argument between you - mild and brittle as it was - was equivalent to a real fight. one with fists used and noses broken. a large part of him wishes it was. after all, it would hurt less than the way you no longer talk to him like he matters.
"you stopped talking to me." it's like an echo, a pounding drum that sounds out over the loud music blasting in through the four walls around you, so much worse than whatever brazilian phonk one of the frat brothers had put onto the speakers outside.
"and?" sukuna snorts, raising a hand as if he can physically brush off your point like it's nothing, like you're just another nobody begging for his attention, turning his head to the side while he grins pathetically at the wall, holding back a sludge of emotion threatening to suffocate you both in the heat of the moment. "still doesn't explain gojo."
"stop acting like you're the only one who's entitled to being my friend-"
"friend?"
sukuna scoffs, rolling his shoulders back as crimson eyes fall back to you again, deep, like somebody had poured blood into his irises and called it a day. the way he utters your word back to you makes something inside your chest physically recoil.
"is that what you meant by that kiss? friendship? y'kiss all your little friends on the lips as a goodbye, babe?"
"i don't know what i meant with that kiss."
"you'd know if it was gojo."
"i'd know a lot about myself if it was gojo. at least he's consistent. at least he's stable." for a conversation spoken in hushed tones and biting mumbles, it seems like every word would have been better off yelled out loud. no whispering voice could cushion the sharpness of your sentences. you don't stop. neither does he.
"'stable'." sukuna shakes his head, "y'know, 'm not surprised. you always liked it easy, didn't you? was never above throwin' a tantrum when i didn't play by the rules."
"what tantrums, ryomen?" it's like a switch has been flipped on between the both of you, your voices raised only slightly louder, muscles a little more tense, faces a little bit closer, like the aim was to make the words hurt more with the proximity. "what rules?"
"don't act clueless, babe. 's not your style. everythin's gotta be perfect with you, right? just how you want it to be."
"i want things to be fair. going around and comparing what i do with you to what i do with satoru isn't fair, ryomen."
"oh, so it's 'satoru' now, is it?" he shuffles closer, and real anger seems to flicker from behind his lashes, barely there for long enough to provoke anything in you. his voice lowers itself again, imitating that same, ridiculous, raspy drawl you notice he always uses while arguing.
strange, how once upon a time you wouldn't have been able to imagine a moment where he'd use that same voice on you.
"it's always been 'satoru'." you hiss, "and you leave him out of this."
"why? you're real protective over someone who wants to play fair, babe. can't be unbiased when you're like that."
"unbiased? that's funny coming from you, ryomen."
"yeah? the fuck's that supposed to mean?"
you pause, wondering if you're willing to change this entire debate and turn it into something worse, all for the sake of your stinging pride and the shame in missing him so much.
as it stands, it turns out you are.
"it's means i know you fucked 'ella."
for once, sukuna's speechless. the words hit him straight in the gut, and suddenly it's like breathing the same air as you means death, because he's stumbling back a couple inches. his breath hitches, and guilt gnaws at him, full of sharp teeth.
"i fuck everybody." it's a pathetic defence, spoken in a pathetic voice, by a pathetic man.
but it stings all the same. from the very beginning, you've known better than to want something more with sukuna. he acted exactly like he looked - cocksure, with his fair share of people tripping over themselves just for one night in his bed. somehow, being aware of his habits only made you more curious. you find yourself thinking you should have nipped that curiosity in the bud when you had the chance.
"i know."
"so what's the problem?"
"the problem," you whisper, "is that you keep coming to me afterwards."
all the fight leaves him the minute you stop talking, sagging back against the wall behind him, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. the slight jut of his lower lip would have tempted you into kissing him again, under better circumstances.
you wonder if the aforementioned 'better' circumstances would ever circle back - time has a habit of repeating itself, after all.
but men like sukuna don't change.
"i can handle sleeping in the same bed." you begin, "i can handle being that person for you, ryomen, the one that you come to for safety, for security. but what i can't bear-" your voice cracks, and his heart breaks along with it, "what i can't bear is being a second thought."
"you're never a second thought-"
"but you're acting like i am." you interrupt, trembling from a cold that you can't even feel, so weak from the effort it takes to be confronting him that you take a minute to kick off your heels and let the soles of your feet plant themselves on the cool tile of the floor beneath you.
"you think it doesn't hurt me? hearing everyone talk about us as if there's something going on?" a tear slips down your cheek, hammering the final nail onto his coffin - he's never seen you cry before, not really. you've never let anyone get close enough to see.
"you get every fucking girl on this campus to lay at your feet. all i get is you."
silence lingers. it stains his knuckles, highlighting his anger. it stains your lips, highlighting the biggest mistake you've made since letting sukuna use you for comfort.
even then, there's still a massive rift between you both - your greatest sin was letting a curse made into man have a moment's respite, his biggest sin was thinking he could love you and get away with being the man he was at the same time.
"why do i-" you have to take a deep breath in to stop a whimper from escaping your mouth, head bowed, eyes glaring at the floor between your feet. "why do i get only you, huh? someone comes up to me for five fucking seconds and you sulk. satoru talks about me for one minute and you're fighting-"
"it's not his fuckin' place-"
"it's not your place, either!" you seethe, more tears spill from your eyes, clumping those pretty lashes together. sukuna's mouth waters, like he wants to lick them from your cheeks and cradle that gorgeous face in his large hands until you feel better. instead, he stays still.
"i get lonely, ryomen. real fucking lonely. you know that, and you still left for two weeks - like it's my fault you're so insecure. i'm not the one telling you to fuck every girl within a fifty-mile radius. if that's what you want-"
"that's never been what i want." he chokes, taking a step closer. you take a step back. close proximity with the one person you're too stubborn to cloes the distance with is the last thing you need. sukuna winces at your recoil, angular features twisting into something pained.
"they don't mean anythin'." his hand stretches out to you, pausing millimetres before your arm. you take the chance to press your fingers into his palm. he tries to hold them. you use the contact to push him away.
you're slipping between his fingers right before his eyes, and he isn't strong enough to stop it.
"they mean something to me." you swallow, closing your eyes, hand falling limp at your side again.
you've both fantasised about laying your hearts bare for one another, more often than you can count, in the privacy of your own rooms. sukuna likes to imagine the silence being so warm it melts him right into your open palms, and it smells just like the bottle of perfume you'd given him weeks prior.
it was never meant to be like this - born into existence with thorns jutting out of pillow-soft words. and he's never been the sort to take a hit and not strike back.
he struggles to say something, to convince you that you shouldn't worry about anyone else, that there's only been you. what he manages to mumble out is different:
"i'm not gonna change for you, babe."
it's a lie. he'd morph into a monster with four eyes, four arms and two mouths if you'd ask him to. he'd burn the world down with malevolent intent if it meant keeping you warm. you don't know that, though. he's kept every devoted thought about you locked away, deep in the depths of a heart he's only rumoured to have.
"i've never asked you to." you murmur, "but i can't do this anymore, sukuna." you shake your head, one shuddering sigh breathing past your lips as you ready yourself for the hardest thing you'll ever do.
"i'm gonna go." you tell him. he knows that this is final. feels it in the way his heart sinks to his stomach and stops beating. every muscle stiffens with dread. his eyes water. you look away.
"don't…" you start moving, heading straight for the door, hand on the handle, vibrations buzzing with each soulless beat of music resounding off of the walls outside. faintly, you hear the quiet babble of people waiting for a turn in the bathroom lined up outside.
a morgue would have had more life in it than the atmosphere between you both. sukuna waits for you to finish your sentence. you falter once. he catches the break in your line of thought, and hopes that while you have the strength to end what you're about to say, you might not have the heart to do it.
instead, he just proves to himself that maybe he doesn't know you at all.
"don't stop by any time soon." your hand tightens around the door handle. he jolts forward, your name falling from his lips like a plea folded into scorn, and you hold up a hand to silence him. it halts between you both, a hesitation, but he's close enough to put one foot in front of the other, pushing his chest into your open palm.
his heartbeat is forceful, you feel it. as always, it matches your own.
gently, you apply pressure, pushing him away.
"you take care of yourself, alright?"
"'s not possible without you with me." he clenches his jaw, and a shadow falls over his face from where the light spills from behind his head, darkening the wrinkle between his brows. as always, you're tempted to give into the urge of smoothing it out using your thumb.
as always, you refrain.
"please," he drops your name into the air like a plea. sukuna ryomen doesn't beg. he's not supposed to. but somehow he's never not on his knees when he's around you, unsure whether he's there to worship, or confess or pray.
"let me fix this, babe."
you shake your head once. he either changes for himself, or he doesn't change at all - you won't give him the chance to use you as a scapegoat for his pride. "if you really need me," you watch his lower lip tremble, "you knock. but don't come looking for me if you don't have to."
"i always fuckin' look for you." he growls, slamming his hand against the doorframe beside your head. you flinch. "and now you're just gonna leave me here-?"
he hears the slap before he feels it.
it's loud and crisp and so much less than what he deserves for all that he's done, but at least you've given him something.
the force of it snaps his head round until he's looking at the wall. the outline of your hand burns itself into his cheek. he's never wanted you more. you've never been further out of reach.
and you're looking at him like he's some kind of monster. maybe he is. maybe he'll have to settle for the shape of your perfume bottle to sleep against for the rest of his life. your breath comes in, heavy. he listens to it despite the drumming of his heartbeat.
then - there's only silence.
because you're thinking. because every moment of delicacy, of gentle touches and longing glances, happens to flicker through your mind like a sick montage of what once was and what could have been.
another tear spills down your cheek, a lone soldier treading over smooth skin, wetting it. sukuna's breathing shakes as he moves his head back around to face you properly, pink eyelashes heavy with liquid emotion. his cheeks match the wetness of yours.
you know that if you don't leave - if you don't say something, anything - at that very moment, you won't ever be able to muster up the courage to turn on your heel and walk away from him ever again. so your lips part, and your tongue gets to work:
"don't you dare pretend that it was ever my idea to leave first." you follow the way his adam's apple bobs in his throat - as though it pains him to swallow the truth you're feeding him. "this is on you."
and you're gone.
just like that, the door opens and shuts. he catches a final glimpse of your back, retreating into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of smoking, lustrous people dancing in unison, before the door swings shut, and he's left alone.
the sob that leaves him is muffled into his fist, and sukuna presses his forehead against the door, trying to smooth out the wrinkle between his brows against the smooth wood out of defiance - because why would he need you to do it for him?
one hand grips his chest. there's an ache inside of him that he knows he won't ever be free from - not without you by his side.
it's not your fault. you've given what you can - sukuna just never knew what you were giving for. that was his own burden to bear.
the next sob that rips through him comes out tortured, a mangled sound that he didn't even know was possible to make. somebody knocks on the door, asking if he was alright.
sukuna doesn't answer.
another sob rips it's way out of his throat.
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⋆. 𐙚 ˚ (a/n): yayyyyy!!! part 3 is done and over with - will the public ask for a part 4? who knows!! i'd be more than happy to, if people would like one!
i also hope you all got the sukuna x cinderella reference i sprinkled in ('ella' was short for 'cinderella' heheheheh) - obviously the reader is put above cinderella every day of the week bc she is SUCH a baddie!!
anyway love u all! sorry if it seems a little rushed gulp
Am I so avoidant that I can see myself as the reader in your sukuna series just fully having feelings for him while still acting like that 🙁 she is much more nonchalant but this is like a self discovery about how terribly I view affection. Beautiful writing even as I am considering a crisis ❤️
no because this is 100% how i thought people would receive the reader's character LOLLLLL you and me are one of the same - my way of receiving affection is EXACTLY how the reader is acting towards sukuna, albeit a little more enunciated in the reader's personality, because i'm not nearly enough of a baddie to pull her off gulp
i'm so happy that you like my writing tho!!! hopefully i can dig myself out of the hole i've made regarding the emotional depth i've given each character ehehehhe
OK just to clarify - part 3 of the pushing it down and praying series is 100% coming out YAY! YIPPEE! HURRAH!
HOWEVER, currently, I've got a lot on my plate rn, and I'm trying to find a good balance between my day to day life and writing fanfiction (and other).
PLEASE FORGIVE ME FOR BEING POSSIBLY A WEEK LATE!! my normal plan is to post around every Sunday, but I haven't been able to do so and I'm SO sorry!! pls forgive me!! all your support is much appreciated and not forgotten about!!
Him sleeping with the girl beforehand was whatever but its the fact that he was already planning his next fuck before he even left her place AND they kissed 💀 angst all the way he can suck a toe. Y/N isnt even emotionally available for whatever he has going on 😭
telling sukuna to suck a toe is making me crack up i'm ngl i'm literally having to stifle giggles rn
i'm kinda loving the fact that everyone prefers the reader over SUKUNA HIMSELF bc like she's all i think ab
